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BELLS  AT  EVENING 
AND  OTHER  VERSES 

BY 

FRANCES  J.  CROSBY 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

BY 

ROBERT  LOWRY,  D.D. 


THIRD    EDITION-ENLARGED 


THE  BIGLOW  &  MAIN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  CHICAGO 

1899 


Copyright,  1897,  by 
THE  BIGLOW  &  MAIN  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1898,  by 
THE  BIGLOW  &  MAIN  COMPANY. 


V*; 


DEDICATED 


ALL  WHO  SING  MY  HYMNS. 


612973 


Thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  John  R.  Sweney  for  per- 
mission to  use  hymns  on  pages  174,  176,  and  180  ;  to 
Mr.  Wm.  J.  Kirkpatrick  for  those  on  pages  178,  179, 
and  183  ;  to  Mrs.  Jos.  F.  Knapp  for  hymn  on  page  146; 
also  to  The  Biglow  &  Main  Company  for  permission 
to  use  all  the  other  hymns  and  poems  in  this  little 
volume. 

F.  J.  C. 


NOTE. — The  reprinting,  in  any  form,  of  the  poems  and 
hymns  contained  herein, without  the  written  permission  of  the 
owners  of  the  copyright  first  having  been  obtained, is  a  violation 
of  the  Copyright  law. 

4 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


FRANCES  JANE  CROSBY,  the  daughter  of 
John  and  Mercy  Crosby,  was  born  in  South 
East,  Putnam  County,  New  York,  March  24, 
1820.  Her  home  was  in  a  little  valley,  through 
which  ran  a  branch  of  the  Croton  River.  The 
murmur  of  the  flowing  water  was  the  music  of 
her  earliest  childhood.  Her  fancy  reveled  in  the 
silvery  tones  that  rose  incessantly  from  the  hum- 
ble brook.  They  spoke  to  her  in  a  language 
which  she  could  understand,  and  she  learned  to 
translate  them  into  her  own  vernacular.  The 
dancing  measures  of  the  little  stream  still  linger 
sweetly  in  her  memory. 

When  she  was  only  six  weeks  old  an  affection 
of  the  eyes  demanded  medical  treatment.  Either 
from  lack  of  accurate  diagnosis,  or  from  the  opera- 
tion of  causes  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  skill, 
the  remedies  applied  failed  to  accomplish  the  de- 
sired end,  and  her  sense  of  sight  entirely  disap- 
peared. Happily  for  her  peace  of  mind,  this  loss 
of  vision  came  upon  her  at  so  early  an  age  that 
she  was  relieved  of  those  violent  and  painful  con- 
trasts which  would  have  been  her  lot  if  this  mis- 


6  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

fortune  had  overtaken  her  in  later  years.  Indeed 
so  utterly  foreign  to  her  is  our  world  of  sight,  she 
does  not  feel  the  loss  of  what  practically  never 
was  in  her  possession.  A  calamity  which  would 
be  regarded  by  us  as  beyond  all  compensation 
she  looks  upon  as  one  of  the  commonplaces  of 
her  normal  condition.  It  is  pathetic  to  hear  her 
gentle  but  earnest  protest  when  tender  sympathies 
are  expended  upon  her  by  honestly  commiserating 
friends ;  but  we  cannot  but  admire  the  beautiful 
contentment  with  which  she  accepts  her  place  in 
life,  and  even  expresses  a  preference  for  what  to 
us  would  be  only  an  unmitigated  misfortune. 
Her  childhood  was  a  period  of  unalloyed  delight. 
Her  happy  temperament  threw  sunshine  over  all 
her  surroundings.  She  discovered  in  time  that 
there  was  a  sight-world  in  which  she  had  no  part, 
but  no  knowledge  of  that  deprivation  could  affect 
the  elasticity  of  her  spirits. f  As  if  to  give  notice 
to  all  persons  that  they  need  not  waste  any  con- 
dolements  on  her,  she  wrote,  at  the  age  of  eight 
years,  the  following  statement  of  the  situation  as 
she  viewed  it :  i 

"  O  what  a  happy  soul  am  I ! 

Although  I  cannot  see, 
I  am  resolved  that  in  this  world 

Contented  I  will  be  ; 
How  many  blessings  I  enjoy 

That  other  people  don't ! 
To  weep  and  sigh  because  I'm  blind, 

I  cannot,  and  I  won't." 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  7 

The  poetry  in  this  childish  effusion  may  not  be  of 
the  highest  order,  but  the  philosophy  it  contains 
is  worthy  of  general  adoption. 

When  she  was  about  nine  years  old  she  was 
taken  by  her  parents  to  Ridgefield,  Conn.,  where 
the  family  remained  four  years.  After  the  death 
of  her  father  her  opportunities  for  mental  im- 
provement were  in  a  degree  interrupted.  This 
would  have  been  a  serious  thing  to  her  but  for 
the  one  happy  event  which  turned  and  fixed  the 
course  of  her  life.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  years  she 
entered  the  New  York  Institution  for  the  Blind. 
Here  she  remained  as  a  pupil  for  twelve  years. 
In  1847  she  became  a  teacher,  in  which  position 
she  continued  till  1858.  She  taught  English 
Grammar,  Rhetoric,  and  Roman  and  American 
History.  This  was  the  developing  period  in  her 
life.  The  darkness  that  was  upon  the  face  of  the 
deep  gave  place  to  the  form  and  symmetry  of  in- 
tellectual expansion.  Her  vivid  imagination, 
which  had  been  running  for  years  with  but  little 
restraint,  came  under  the  control  of  her  broaden- 
ing intellect.  Language,  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  life,  had  been  necessarily  lim- 
ited, came  to  her  aid  with  a  steadily  increasing 
vocabulary.  The  poetic  faculty,  which  from  early 
childhood  had  been  struggling  within  her  for  ex- 
pression, found  food  and  stimulus  along  all  these 
lines  of  intellectual  development.  Memory,  al- 
ways intensified  and  strengthened  in  the  absence 


8  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

of  external  helps,  became  her  ready  and  obedient 
servitor.  The  schoolboy  may  forget  the  lesson 
on  the  printed  page,  but  the  blind  man  retains  it. 
The  man  with  clear  vision  may  lose  the  face  of  a 
friend  in  the  distractions  of  the  outside  world,  but 
the  blind  man  never  mistakes  the  tone  of  a  voice. 
The  expert  organist,  with  his  fingers  on  the  key- 
board or  his  pen  marking  the  paper,  may  be 
puzzled  to  know  the  correct  outlet  for  a  discord, 
but  the  blind  musician,  almost  by  intuition,  will 
see  the  difficulty  and  give  the  true  progression. 
The  Bible,  studded  with  golden  texts,  became  a 
never-failing  treasury  to  this  blind  girl  passing 
up  into  womanhood.  So  tenacious  is  her  mem- 
ory that  in  her  early  years  she  committed  the 
first  four  books  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  also 
the  four  Gospels.  Her  hymns  abound  with 
phrases  of  Scripture  which  readily  adapt  them- 
selves to  rhythmic  expression.  Her  mind  is 
stored  with  much  that  she  has  learned  from 
various  authors.  Once  in  possession  of  a  thought 
of  value,  she  assimilates  it,  reproduces  it,  makes 
it  her  own  by  putting  on  it  the  stamp  of  her  in- 
dividuality. The  versatility  of  her  genius  is  re- 
markable. Driven  sometimes  by  a  stress  of  work 
there  will  slip  from  her  a  striking  epithet  or 
phrase  which  she  has  used  before;  but,  tak- 
ing into  view  the  many  hymns  which  she  has 
written,  besides  songs  and  miscellaneous  poems, 
the  wonder  is  that  she  expresses  herself  in  such 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  9 

manifold  variety.  Her  mind  is  a  storehouse  of 
things  new  and  old,  and  her  verse  is  constructed 
from  the  abundant  words  and  phrases  which  seem 
to  fall  almost  of  their  own  accord  into  their  appro- 
priate places. 

During  her  pupilage  in  the  Institution  for  the 
Blind  her  teachers  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  poetic 
quality  of  her  mind,  and  the  growing  aptitude  for 
putting  words  together  in  metrical  form  and  ta- 
pering them  off  with  rhymes.  So  prominently 
did  this  gift  assert  itself,  the  managers  were  led 
to  utilize  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  Institution.  In 
August,  1842,  a  tour  was  made  through  western 
New  York,  in  which  a  number  of  the  pupils 
made  exhibition  of  the  kind  of  work  done  in  the 
schoolroom.  At  all  these  meetings  Miss  Crosby 
was  put  forward  as  conspicuously  illustrating  the 
value  of  education  to  the  blind.  A  poetic  ad- 
dress delivered  at  one  of  these  meetings  contains 
the  following  stanza : 

"  Contented,  happy,  though  a  sightless  band, 
Dear  friends,  this  evening  we  before  you  stand  ; 
We  for  a  moment  your  attention  claim. 
And  trust  that  boon  will  not  be  asked  in  vain." 

In  May,  1843,  tne  Institution  for  the  Blind  held 
its  anniversary  in  the  Broadway  Tabernacle,  New 
York.  The  occasion,  always  interesting,  was 
made  doubly  so  by  the  recitation  of  an  original 
poem,  of  which  the  following  is  an  extract : 


10  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

"  The  smile  that  decks  the  human  face, 

The  brilliant  eye,  the  joyous  brow, 
Are  beauties  we  may  never  trace ; 

A  rayless  midnight  shrouds  us  now. 
But  why,  O  why  the  falling  tear  ? 

Why  heaves  the  sad,  unbidden  sigh  ? 
The  lamp  of  knowledge,  bright  and  clear, 

Pours  luster  on  our  mental  eye." 

On  June  22,  1843,  the  Senate  of  the  State  of 
New  York  visited  the  Institution  in  a  body.  Here 
again  our  blind  girl  was  brought  to  the  front,  and 
addressed  the  high  dignitaries  in  a  poem,  of  which 
the  following  is  a  specimen  : 

"  Yon  glorious  orb  that  gilds  the  azure  skies 
Sheds  not  a  ray  to  cheer  these  sightless  eyes ; 
The  dewy  lawn,  mild  nature's  sylvan  bowers — 
To  trace  these  lovely  scenes  must  ne'er  be  ours ; 
But  education's  pure  refulgent  light 
Illumes  our  souls,  dispels  our  mental  night ; 
Joy  on  each  brow  a  smiling  garland  weaves  ; 
Here,  too,  her  magic  strain  soft  music  breathes." 

In  the  same  year  another  tour  was  made 
through  central  New  York,  and,  as  usual,  Miss 
Crosby  was  the  chief  performer  with  an  original 
poem. 

In  November,  1843,  Count  Bertrand  was  re- 
ceived as  an  honored  guest,  and  Miss  Crosby 
was  selected  to  address  him  in  poetic  form. 
She  subsequently  wrote  a  touching  poem  on 
hearing  of  the  Count's  death. 

On  January  24,  1844,  seventeen  pupils  were 
taken  to  Washington  to  give  a  practical  demon- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  1 1 

stration,  before  the  Senate  and  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, of  the  good  results  attending  a  sys- 
tematic instruction  of  the  blind.  In  this  august 
presence,  stirred  by  eloquent  speeches  and  regaled 
with  sweet  singing,  our  gifted  poet  poured  her 
heart  out  in  words  that  held  all  hearers  captive. 
From  a  poem  of  thirteen  stanzas  we  select  the 
following : 

' '  What  though  these  orbs  in  rayless  darkness  roll  ? 
Instruction  pours  its  radiance  o'er  the  soul ; 
And  fancy  pictures  to  the  mental  eye 
The  glittering  hosts  that  'lume  the  midnight  sky. 
O  ye  who  here  from  every  State  convene, 
Illustrious  band  !  may  we  not  hope  the  scene 
You  now  behold  will  prove  to  every  mind 
Instruction  hath  a  ray  to  cheer  the  blind." 

In  the  same  year  a  company  of  twenty  pupils 
gave  an  exhibition  of  like  character  at  Trenton, 
N.  J.,  before  the  Governor  and  Legislature.  The 
occasion  was  one  of  intense  interest,  not  the  least 
feature  of  which  was  an  original  poem  delivered 
by  her  who  had  become  so  important  a  factor  in 
making  the  public  familiar  with  the  working  of 
the  Institution  to  which  she  belonged. 

While  Miss  Crosby  was  teaching  she  came  in 
contact  with  many  distinguished  men.  An  item 
of  interest  which  she  takes  pleasure  in  recalling 
is  the  fact  that,  during  a  part  of  that  time,  Grover 
Cleveland  was  attached  to  the  office  of  the  Institu- 
tion. Her  recollections  of  Mr.  Cleveland  are  of 
the  most  pleasant  character,  his  bearing  toward 


12  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

her  being  such  as  to  impress  her  mind  with  a 
sense  of  his  courtesy  and  kindness.  Among  the 
men  whom  she  met  were  President  Van  Buren, 
President  Tyler,  Governor  William  H.  Seward, 
General  Winfield  Scott,  and  Henry  Clay.  Con- 
cerning Henry  Clay,  she  tells  the  story  that  dur- 
ing his  last  visit  to  New  York  he  came  to  the 
Institution,  and  she  was  appointed  to  give  him 
welcome  in  a  poem.  Six  months  before  he  had 
lost  a  son  in  the  Mexican  war,  and  she  had  sent 
him  some  verses.  In  her  address  she  carefully 
avoided  any  allusion  to  his  sorrow.  When  she 
had  finished  her  poem  of  welcome  he  came  up 
to  her  and  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes :  "  This  is 
not  the  first  poem  for  which  I  am  indebted  to 
this  lady.  Six  months  ago  she  sent  me  some 
lines  on  the  death  of  my  dear  son."  Both  of 
them  were  overcome  for  the  moment,  and  although 
with  an  effort  he  recovered  himself,  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  restrain  her  tears. 

In  1845  George  F.  Root  began  to  give  music 
lessons  in  the  New  York  Institution  for  the  Blind. 
In  1851  it  occurred  to  him  that  a  cantata  or 
musical  play  might  be  made  useful  in  his  classes, 
especially  those  in  Rutgers  and  Spingler  Insti- 
tutes. The  floral  concerts  given  by  W.  B.  Brad- 
bury in  the  Broadway  Tabernacle  suggested  the 
subject  of  the  flowers  choosing  a  queen,  and  he 
finally  determined  that  the  little  play  should  be 
called  The  Flower  Queen.  In  his  autobiogra- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  13 

phy,  entitled  The  Story  of  a  Musical  Life,  Dr. 
Root  thus  expresses  his  indebtedness  to  Miss 
Crosby : 

"  At  the  Institution  for  the  Blind  there  was  at 
that  time  a  lady  who  had  been  a  pupil  there,  but 
was  now  a  teacher,  who  had  a  great  gift  for 
rhyming,  and,  better  still,  had  a  delicate  and 
poetic  imagination.  The  name  of  Fanny  Crosby 
was  not  known  then  beyond  the  small  circle  of 
her  personal  friends,  but  it  is  now  familiar,  espe- 
cially wherever  Gospel  songs  are  sung.  I  used 
to  tell  her  one  day  in  prose  what  I  wanted  the 
Flowers  or  the  Recluse  to  say,  and  the  next  day 
the  poem  would  be  ready  —  sometimes  two  or 
three  of  them.  I  generally  hummed  enough  of  a 
melody  to  give  her  an  idea  of  the  meter  and 
rhythmic  swing  wanted,  and  sometimes  played  to 
her  the  entire  music  of  a  number  before  she  un- 
dertook her  work.  It  was  all  the  same.  Like 
many  blind  people  her  memory  was  great,  and 
she  easily  retained  all  I  told  her.  After  receiving 
her  poems,  which  rarely  needed  any  modification, 
I  thought  out  the  music,  perhaps  while  going 
from  one  lesson  to  another,  and  then  I  caught 
the  first  moment  of  freedom  to  write  it  out.  This 
went  on  until  the  cantata  was  finished." 

The  same  ready  pen  contributed  largely  to 
Professor  Root's  cantata  of  "  Daniel,"  and  also 
that  of  "  The  Pilgrim  Fathers."  Many  songs  were 
written  by  her  for  Professor  Root,  among  them 


14  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

"Rosalie  the  Prairie  Flower,"  "Hazel  Dell," 
"The  Honeysuckle  Glen,"  "Proud  World, 
Good-By,  I'm  Going  Home,"  "  Music  in  the 
Air,"  "  All  Together,"  "  Never  Forget  the  Dear 
Ones,  "and  others.  These  songs  became  exceed- 
ingly popular  in  their  day,  though  it  was  not  gen- 
erally known  at  the  time  that  she  was  the  author 
of  them.  The  royalty  on  "  Rosalie  the  Prairie 
Flower "  alone  amounted  to  nearly  three  thou- 
sand dollars. 

Many  of  Miss  Crosby's  hymns  and  songs  have 
gone  out  into  the  world,  though  not  by  her  in- 
tent, either  anonymously  or  under  some  pseu- 
donym. John  Julian,  in  his  "  Dictionary  of 
Hymnology,"  says  of  this  questionable  treat- 
ment: 

"  The  greater  part  are  signed  by  a  bewildering 
number  of  initials  and  noms  deplume;  includ- 
ing: 

"A.;  C.;  D.  H.  W.  ;  F.;  F.  A.  N.;  F.  C.;  F. 
J.  C.;  F.  J.  V.  A.;  J.  C.  F.;  V.;  V.  A.;  Ella  Dale; 
F.  Crosby;  F.  J.  Crosby;  Fannie;  Fannie  Crosby; 
Fanny  Van  Alstyne;  Jenny  V.;  Mrs.  Jenie  Glenn; 
Mrs.  Kate  Grinley;  Miss  V.;  Miss  Viola  V.  A.;  Mrs. 
V.;  Viola." 

To  this  crazy-quilt  list  may  be  added,  Grace  J. 
Frances,  Mrs.  C.  M.  Wilson,  Lizzie  Edwards, 
Henrietta  E.  Blair,  Rose  Atherton,  Maud  Mar- 
ion, Leah  Carlton,  and  others. 

Miss  Crosby  was  married  to  Alexander  Van 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  15 

Alstyne  March  5,  1858.  Mr.  Van  Alstyne  was 
a  pupil  in  the  Institution  and  a  good  musician. 
Strong  in  their  mutual  love  and  sympathy,  they 
were  willing  to  take  the  risks  of  a  world  they 
could  not  see.  With  all,  the  disadvantages  and 
distractions  of  this  independent  life  the  new 
bride  never  lost  her  thirst  for  knowledge,  nor  did 
there  come  any  diminution  of  that  poetic  afflatus 
which  made  her  a  queen  in  her  educational 
home.  She  lived  her  life  of  song  through  all  the 
years,  and  finds  in  it  still  her  greatest  pleasure. 

The  diversity  of  names  by  which  she  is  known 
is  sometimes  confusing.  One  editor,  with  a 
habit  of  precision  which  might  well  be  emulated, 
inscribes  her  in  his  hymnal  as  Mrs.  Frances  Jane 
Crosby  Van  Alstyne.  Another  satisfies  himself 
with  the  briefer  form  of  Mrs.  F.  J.  Van  Alstyne. 
Less  precise  compilers  content  themselves  with 
Miss  Frances  J.  Crosby,  or  Fanny  J.  Crosby,  or, 
more  economically,  Fanny  Crosby.  To  the  pub- 
lic at  large  she  will  probably  be  known  always  as 
Fanny  Crosby,  while  to  those  who  are  nearest 
to  her,  and  who  enjoy  the  privilege  of  her  confi- 
dence and  affection,  she  is,  simply  and  sweetly, 
Fanny. 

Three  volumes  of  her  poems  have  been  pub- 
lished. The  first  was  issued  in  1844,  entitled 
"  The  Blind  Girl,  and  Other  Poems,"  containing 
an  excellent  lithograph  portrait  of  the  author.  A 
second  volume  followed  in  1849,  called  "Mon- 


16  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

terey,  and  Other  Poems;"  and  a  third,  "A 
Wreath  of  Columbia's  Flowers,"  was  issued  in 
1858.  While  these  productions  are  all  credit- 
able to  the  author,  it  is  in  no  wise  on  them  that 
her  fame  is  based.  It  is  as  a  writer  of  hymns, 
especially  as  popularized  in  Sunday-schools  for 
the  last  thirty  years,  that  she  has  made  a  name 
for  herself  wherever  the  English  language  is 
spoken.  Nor  is  her  celebrity  confined  to  people 
of  her  native  tongue ;  in  almost  all  quarters  of 
the  world  her  hymns  have  been  translated,  and 
are  sung  by  Christian  people  everywhere. 

It  was  on  February  5,  1864,  that  she  wrote  the 
first  of  that  long  series  of  hymns  which  has  run  up 
into  the  thousands.  This  hymn  was  written  for 
W.  B.  Bradbury,  who  was  then  devoting  himself 
to  musical  service  among  the  young,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  scores  of  others  for  use  in  various 
books  which  Mr.  Bradbury  edited.  The  relation 
thus  formed  between  writer  and  publisher  con- 
tinued till  the  death  of  the  latter  in  1868.  At 
Mr.  Bradbury's  funeral,  this  first  hymn  became 
invested  with  a  kind  of  sacredness  in  being  sung 
in  connection  with  the  musical  exercises.  Its 
opening  lines  read  thus : 

"  We  are  going,  we  are  going 
To  a  home  beyond  the  skies." 

After  the  death  of  Mr.  Bradbury,  the  relations 
she  sustained  to  that  lamented  composer  were 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  17 

continued  with  his  successors,  Biglow  &  Main, 
which  relations  remain  to  this  day.  Biglow  & 
Main  have  accepted  and  paid  for  everything  she 
has  written  for  them  during  all  these  years.  As 
a  consequence  of  this  arrangement,  a  large  num- 
ber of  her  hymns  are  now  in  their  possession. 
Some  of  these  may  yet  be  set  to  music,  and,  it  is 
hoped,  may  prove  as  useful  as  many  of  those 
which  have  contributed  so  much  to  the  popularity 
of  Fanny  Crosby. 

Fanny  Crosby  delights  to  recall  the  dates  of 
her  first  interviews  with  musical  men.  She  tells 
us  that  she  met  Sylvester  Main  on  February  2, 
1864,  and  renewed  an  acquaintanceship  which 
she  had  formed  when  a  child  in  Ridgefield, 
Conn.,  thirty-two  years  before.  On  June  4,  1864, 
she  made  the  friendship  of  Philip  Phillips  in  Mr. 
Bradbury's  office.  In  the  same  place  she  met 
Theo.  E.  Perkins  June  6,  1864.  In  the  same 
year  she  met  Hubert  P.  Main,  for  whom  she  has 
written  scores  of  hymns,  and  who  has  been  in  all 
these  years  a  faithful  helper  and  friend.  In  1866 
she  came  in  contact  with  Robert  Lowry,  with 
whom  she  has  had  many  a  conference  on  the 
phrasing  of  a  hymn,  and  many  a  conversation  on 
the  phases  of  Christian  experience.  About  the 
same  time  she  met  Mrs.  Joseph  F.  Knapp,  T.  F. 
Seward  and  C.  G.  Allen,  who  availed  themselves 
of  her  flowing  pen.  On  November  25,  1867,  she 
had  her  first  correspondence  with  W.  H.  Doane, 
2 


18  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

for  whom  she  has  written  a  large  quantity  of 
songs,  besides  the  words  for  numerous  cantatas, 
sometimes  spending  weeks  at  his  house  elabora- 
ting the  material  for  special  work.  W.  F.  Sher- 
win  she  met  on  the  day  after  Mr.  Bradbury's 
funeral,  and  began  a  friendship  which  lasted  till 
his  death.  In  1877  she  was  introduced  to  John 
R.  Sweney  and  W.  J.  Kirkpatrick  at  the  Ocean 
Grove  Camp  Meeting,  who  frequently  call  upon 
her  for  verses  which  they  may  use  in  their  work. 
In  1876  she  met  Ira  D.  Sankey,  for  whom  she 
has  written  some  of  her  most  effective  songs,  and 
who  has  recently  drawn  upon  her  talent  in  large 
measure  for  songs  to  be  used  in  Gospel  meetings. 
In  1872  she  began  to  furnish  Silas  J.  Vail  with 
some  hymns  that  became  very  popular.  In  1878 
she  made  some  contributions  to  H.  P.  Banks,  and 
has  continued  to  do  so.  In  1879  she  met  Samuel 
Alman,  and  supplied  him  at  intervals  with  ma- 
terial for  his  singing  service.  L.  H.  Biglow  has 
been  her  steadfast  friend  as  far  back  as  Mr. 
Bradbury's  time,  and  has  given  her  every  facility 
for  the  production  and  publication  of  her  songs. 
It  would  be  easy  to  extend  this  list.  She  has 
hosts  of  friends,  and  she  is  loyal  to  those  who 
have  proved  their  friendship.  She  quarrels  with 
none,  but  she  is  quick  to  defend  a  friend  who  is 
attacked.  She  never  forgets  a  favor,  but  she 
takes  no  revenge  for  a  wrong  done  to  herself. 
It  is  her  nature  to  be  confiding,  and  a  suspicion 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  19 

once  aroused  becomes  painful  to  her.  She  takes 
it  for  granted  that  the  world  is  honest,  for  she 
sees  no  reason  why  it  should  be  otherwise.  She 
is  contented  with  the  things  that  she  has,  and 
carries  the  sunshine  of  a  quiet  mind  wherever 
she  goes.  The  cheerfulness  of  her  childhood 
remains  with  her,  and  her  presence  is  a  rebuke 
to  every  form  of  misanthropy.  She  takes  pleas- 
ure in  a  lively  story,  and  is  as  ready  to  sym- 
pathize in  a  case  of  distress.  Her  nervous  tem- 
perament keeps  her  continually  on  the  alert,  but, 
when  occasion  requires,  she  can  retire  within 
herself,  and  be  oblivious  to  all  her  surroundings. 

As  has  already  been  intimated,  Fanny  Crosby 
does  not  mourn  over  the  fact  that  she  is  blind. 
On  the  contrary,  the  writer  of  this  sketch  has 
frequently  heard  her  say  that  if  the  gift  of  sight 
were  offered  her  she  would  choose  rather  to  re- 
main as  she  is.  She  is  firmly  of  the  opinion  that 
her  blindness  has  proved  a  blessing.  "  If  I  had 
not  been  deprived  of  sight,"  she  says,  "  I  should 
never  have  received  so  good  an  education,  nor 
have  cultivated  so  fine  a  memory,  nor  have  been 
able  to  do  good  to  so  many  people."  This  is  her 
consolation  and  her  joy. 

She  does  not  seem  to  need  a  special  inspira- 
tion in  order  to  write.  She  has  her  moods,  and 
therefore  her  verses  are  not  of  uniform  grade. 
But  she  is  very  susceptible  to  a  suggestion  from 
without.  One  day,  while  meditating  on  the 


20  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

leadings  of  Providence,  a  friend  came  into  her 
room  and  gave  her  ten  dollars.  The  unexpected 
gift  awakened  a  train  of  thought  that  formulated 
itself  in  one  of  her  best  hymns,  "  All  the  Way  My 
Saviour  Leads  Me."  At  another  time  her  atten- 
tion was  called  to  the  sweet  sense  of  security  felt 
by  the  soul  that  puts  its  whole  trust  in  Jesus. 
Instantly  the  thought  began  to  take  metrical 
form,  and,  almost  as  rapidly  as  the  words  could 
be  put  together,  she  had  struck  off,  in  the  white 
heat  of  her  own  religious  emotion,  that  hymn  of 
faith  and  comfort,  "  Safe  in  the  Arms  of  Jesus," 
which  at  once  she  adopted  as  her  favorite.  Un- 
der a  similar  impulse  she  wrote  "  Rescue  the 
Perishing,"  a  hymn  of  wonderful  usefulness,  and 
which,  in  diction  and  sentiment,  is  scarcely  to  be 
surpassed  by  anything  she  has  ever  produced. 
Multitudes  of  persons  have  been  aroused  to  a 
better  life,  and  multitudes  more  have  been  com- 
forted in  their  time  of  sorrow,  through  the  instru- 
mentality of  her  hymns.  Her  influence  over  the 
young  is  beyond  all  calculation,  and  thousands 
who  have  passed  through  the  Sunday-school  dur- 
ing the  last  thirty  years  hold  her  in  the  tenderest 
regard  as  associated  with  the  brightest  days  of 
their  childhood.  In  every  community  in  which 
her  songs  have  been  sung,  stories  are  told  of  the 
sweet  influence  of  her  lines  on  life  and  character. 
She  rarely  appears  in  any  assembly  without  call- 
ing forth  witnesses  to  her  power  for  good. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  21 

Sometimes  the  demonstration  is  dramatic.  One 
evening  she  was  present  in  a  mission  meeting 
when  "  Rescue  the  Perishing "  was  sung.  A 
young  man  arose  and  told  the  story  of  his  wan- 
derings :  Hungry  and  penniless,  he  was  strolling 
through  the  streets  one  night  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  singing.  Entering  the  hall,  he  caught 
the  words  of  this  hymn.  His  heart  broke  in 
penitence.  "  I  was  just  ready  to  perish,"  he  said, 
"  but  that  hymn,  by  the  grace  of  God,  saved  me." 
Fancy  the  scene  when  the  author  and  the 
speaker  stood  face  to  face,  their  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  the  audience  thrilled  with  the  pathos 
of  the  meeting. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  what  is  that  element 
in  a  metrical  composition  by  which  it  survives 
the  general  wreck.  Songs  and  hymns  in  great 
numbers  are  thrown  before  the  public,  and  kept 
afloat  for  a  time  by  a  mellifluous  or  "  catchy  " 
tune.  They  have  their  brief  day,  and  then  dis- 
appear. Evidently  there  is  something  more 
needed  than  a  mere  jingle  of  words  in  order  to 
give  a  hymn  an  abiding  life.  Not  even  the  high- 
est grade  of  poetry  will  secure  a  fixed  place  in 
the  service  of  praise  if  it  be  lacking  in  spiritual 
quality.  There  must  be  in  a  hymn  something 
which  is  readily  apprehended  by  the  Christian 
consciousness,  coming  forth  from  the  experience 
of  the  writer,  and  clothed  in  strong  and  inspiring 
words,  if  it  would  hold  its  place  as  a  permanent 


22  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

factor  in  Christian  worship.  The  time  has  not 
yet  come  when  Fanny  Crosby's  place  among  the 
hymn  writers  of  Christendom  may  be  deter- 
mined ;  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that,  of  the  many 
hymns  which  have  come  up  from  the  throbbings 
of  her  warm  heart,  there  will  be  found  in  the 
ultimate  sifting  no  inconsiderable  number  which 
the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die. 

Passing  now  through  the  later  seventies  of  her 
useful  life,  she  preserves  all  the  sprightliness  of 
her  early  years.  Her  friendships  are  fervent, 
and  her  hope  is  strong.  She  loves  her  work,  and 
she  finds  her  rest  in  Christ.  In  her  younger 
days  she  joined  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church, 
and  its  fellowship  is  still  her  comfort  and  delight. 
She  engages  in  no  doctrinal  controversies,  but 
speaks  the  language  of  Zion  with  saints  of  every 
name.  She  sits  in  her  easy  chair,  holding  an 
open  book  before  her  closed  eyes,  working  her 
vivid  concepts  into  hymnic  phrases  which  her 
amanuensis  writes  down.  Thus  she  spends  her 
days,  waiting  her  appointed  time.  When  it 
comes,  she  will  open  her  eyes  on  the  glory  that 
shall  be  revealed,  and  take  her  part  in  the  new 
song. 

NOTE.—  The  three  earlier  collections  by  F.  J.  Crosby,  men- 
tioned in  this  Biographical  Sketch,  are  out  of  print,  and  can- 
not be  furnished. 


SECULAR  POEMS. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

I  TURNED  from  the  crowded  city, 

And  strolled  by  myself  alone, 
Languidly  musing,  and  humming  a  tune 

In  a  dull  and  drowsy  tone, 
Till  I  came  to  a  lovely  village 

That  nestled  among  the  dells ; 
Then  my  heart  leaped  up  with  a  strange, 
wild  thrill 

At  the  sound  of  the  evening  bells, — 

Now  bursting  in  sudden  clangor, 

Now  melting  in  softer  strains, 
Till  I  felt  the  power  of  my  soul  entranced, 

Held  fast  by  unyielding  chains ; 
E'en  now  I  can  hear  the  echo 

That  floated  among  the  dells ; 
And  I  weep  as  then  I  wept  for  joy 

At  the  sound  of  the  evening  bells. 

Ah  me,  it  is  bright  as  ever, 

The  close  of  a  halcyon  day 
That  down  in  the  vault  of  a  moldering  past 

I  thought  I  had  laid  away ; 


24  BELLS  AT  EVENING, 

But  the  same  warm  gush  of  feeling 

Again  in  my  bosom  swells ; 
And  I  wonder  if  still  from  the  old  church  spire 

Ring  out  those  evening  bells. 

I  think  of  that  rustic  village, 

Secluded  as  once  it  stood, 
With  its  dwellings  so  unpretending, 

That  sheltered  the  pure  and  good  ; 
And  a  lone,  sweet  voice  is  blending 

With  the  echoes  among  the  dells  ; 
And  a  form  trips  by  with  a  fairy  tread, 

As  I  list  to  the  evening  bells. 

I  stand  where  a  whitethorn  blossoms, 

But  not  by  myself  alone ; 
I  am  looking  into  a  girlish  face, 

And  catching  her  every  tone ; 
And  this  is  our  young  love's  dawning  ; 

What  rapture  its  memory  tells ! 
And  our  hearts  keep  time  with  the  mellow  chime, 

The  chime  of  the  evening  bells. 

O  throb  of  a  passing  moment ! 

O  bliss  that  will  come  no  more  ! 
We  met,  and  too  soon  we  parted ; 

The  dream  of  my  life  is  o'er ; 
The  bells  of  my  heart  are  silent ; 

She  sleeps  in  that  distant  clime ; 
But  I  sometimes  ask  if  her  soul  can  hear 

The  bells  at  the  evening  time. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  25 

The  bells  of  my  heart  are  silent, 

The  springs  of  my  youth  are  dry ; 
And  yet  in  my  lonely  musings 

I  long  like  a  bird  to  fly ; 
I  yearn  for  one  look  at  the  village 

That  nestles  among  the  dells ; 
Then  to  pass  away  in  the  gloaming 

'Mid  the  chiming  of  evening  bells. 


GREETING  TO  THE  CITIZENS  OF 
BRIDGEPORT. 

FRIENDS,  around  your  growing  city, 

Rich  in  beauty,  wealth  and  art, 
Cling  the  best  and  purest  feelings 

Ever  wakened  in  my  heart. 
Dear  to  me  each  laughing  brooklet, 

Dear  to  me  each  mossy  rill, 
And  the  home  of  my  adoption, 

May  I  call  it,  if  I  will  ? 
Home  is  where  our  memory  lingers, 

And  our  thoughts  a  vigil  keep 
O'er  the  graves  our  tears  have  hallowed, 

Tears  that  only  love  can  weep. 
Rural  cot  and  stately  villa 

Nestle  'mid  your  groves  so  fair ; 
And  in  summer,  O  how  sweetly 

Comes  the  cool  and  fragrant  air  ! 


26  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Once  at  close  of  day  I  wandered, 

Musing  on  your  wave-girt  shore, 
Through  your  seaside  park  so  lovely, 

Where  the  crested  billows  roar  ; 
And  I  thought  the  birds  sang  sweeter 

Than  they  ever  sang  before. 
Then  I  saw  in  queenly  beauty, 

Radiance  flashing  from  her  eye, 
Freedom's  goddess  bending  graceful 

From  her  chariot  in  the  sky; 
And  she  said  in  solemn  accents, 

While  she  held  our  banner  bright, 
Crimson  with  the  blood  of  martyrs, 

Gleaming  in  the  rosy  light : 
From  this  patriotic  city, 

When  the  battle  cry  was  heard, 
And  the  fire  of  indignation 

Every  loyal  bosom  stirred — 
From  this  patriotic  city, 

Rank  by  rank  and  corps  by  corps,   ' 
Rushed  they  on  with  lion  courage ; 

Some,  alas !  returned  no  more. 
But  their  names  are  not  forgotten  ; 

On  this  monument  they  stand, 
Wreathed  in  amaranthine  laurels 

Twined  by  love's  immortal  hand. 
Then  she  smiling  laved  her  pinions 

In  the  white  foam's  dashing  spray, 
Blessed  the  monument  she  guarded, 

Spread  her  wings  and  soared  away. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  27 

Then  a  burst  of  choral  music, 

Whence  I  knew  not,  filled  the  air ; 
Were  those  patriot  souls  departed 

Hovering  in  the  sunset  there  ? 
In  that  crimson,  cloudless  sunset 

That  before  me  shone  so  bright, 
Did  they  vanish  when  its  glory 

Passed  forever  from  my  sight  ? 


Friends,  your  city,  from  my  girlhood, 

Was  a  treasured  spot  to  me  ; 
Many  a  summer's  glad  vacation 

'Mid  its  wilds  'twas  mine  to  see. 
Time  has  added  to  its  beauty, 

Changed  the  haunts  I  still  recall, 
But  a  light  from  past  enjoyment 

Is  reflected  over  all. 
I  can  see  the  picnic  gathered 

On  the  beach  at  evening  time; 
I  can  see  the  full  moon  rising 

In  her  majesty  sublime  ; 
And  the  fairy  boat  so  graceful 

As  it  glided  from  the  shore, 
Till  we  scarcely  heard  the  echo 

Of  its  lightly  dipping  oar. 
Ah,  perchance  those  simple  customs 

Are  not  held  so  dear  as  then, 
But  have  dwindled  into  shadows 

Of  the  things  that  once  have  been. 


28  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

They  were  pleasant  in  their  nature, 

They  were  social  of  their  kind, 
And  they  left  a  healthful  pleasure 

In  the  young  and  eager  mind. 
Oft  I  clasp  the  hands  of  many 

That  in  early  days  I  met 
When  I  hither  came  to  visit 

Mother,  sisters,  spared  me  yet ; 
But  some  tender  links  have  parted 

From  the  chain  affection  wove, 
And  their  hallowed  dust  is  sleeping 

In  your  lovely  Mountain  Grove. 
And  my  full  heart  bending  o'er  them 

Weeps  not  hopeless  where  they  lie, 
But  believing  through  the  Saviour 

I  shall  meet  them  by  and  by — 
Meet  them  in  the  soul's  hereafter, 

Meet  them  on  the  palmy  shore, 
In  the  sunny  land  of  roses, 

In  the  Christian's  evermore. 
Once  I  stood  beside  their  gravestones, 

When  the  leaves  around  me  fell, 
And  the  branches  swayed  above  me, 

And  their  moan  was  like  a  knell ; 
For  a  funeral  train  passed  near  me 

To  a  grave  but  newly  made, 
And  an  infant  in  its  beauty 

Like  a  lily  there  was  laid. 
What  a  calm  steals  o'er  my  spirit 

While  in  pensive  thought  I  rove 


SECULAR  POEMS.  29 

Through  the  shaded  walks  that  circle 
Round  your  quiet  Mountain  Grove. 

It  was  well  and  wisely  chosen; 
And,  when  future  years  have  fled, 

Let  no  changes  that  may  follow 
E'er  disturb  the  silent  dead. 

O'er  your  city  may  the  blessing 

Of  the  holy  One  descend  ; 
May  its  onward  march  continue, 

And  its  commerce  wide  extend ; 
And  among  its  sweet  environs 

May  the  yearly  fruits  abound  ; 
With  the  smiles  of  peace  and  plenty 

May  the  farmer's  toil  be  crowned. 


THE  RAINDROP. 

A  GOLDEN  cloud  came  flitting  by 

On  the  clear  blue  arch  of  a  summer's  sky ; 

And  a  crystal  drop,  as  it  lightly  fell, 

Like  an  orient  pearl  in  a  lily  bell, 

Had  stolen  a  blush  from  the  cheek  of  day 

That  lingered  there  in  its  idle  play, 

And  spangled  the  raindrop  pure  and  white 

With  the  wavy  tints  of  its  crimson  light, 

Then  flitted  away  in  its  sportive  glee 

To  a  star  that  rose  o'er  the  twilight  sea. 

'Twas  only  its  mirrored  glance  that  shone, 

Like  the  memory  sweet  of  some  whispered  tone, 


30  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  the  beautiful  raindrop  looked  in  vain 
For  the  beam  that  had  gone  to  its  source  again, 
Then  turned  to  the  bosom  that  loved  it  best, 
And  sighed  as  it  wearily  sank  to  rest. 

And  the  lily  smiled  as  it  lingered  there 

And  nestled  soft  in  her  petals  fair, 

And  drank  of  the  snowy  cup  she  filled 

With  the  balmy  breath  from  her  heart  distilled ; 

But  a  zephyr  came,  and  it  murmured  low 

As  the  tender  cadence  of  streams  that  flow 

Where  the  date  tree  bends  like  a  stately  queen 

Her  leaf-crowned  head  to  the  olive  green ; 

And  aromas  sweet  from  the  flowers  it  bore, 

That  bloom  in  the  vales  of  that  far-off  shore, 

And  the  last  wild  song  of  a  woodland  bird, 

And  a  sigh  that  a  maiden's  heart  had  stirred, 

And  a  silver  note  as  it  lightly  fell 

From  a  lover's  lute  in  a  fairy  dell ; 

But  while  with  the  lily  it  seemed  to  play, 

It  wooed  from  her  bosom  the  drop  away 

Ere  the  rosy  morn  from  the  dewy  steep 

Awakened  the  birds  from  their  dreamy  sleep  ; 

On  her  slender  stem  she  had  pined  alone  ; 

Her  heart  and  her  life  with  that  drop  had  flown. 

And  where  was  the  truant  ?     O'er  hill  and  glade 

With  the  zephyr  it  passed  through  the  forest  shade 

To  a  couch  where  a  dying  infant  lay, 

And  a  pale  young  mother  had  knelt  to  pray  ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  31 

And  it  moistened  the  lips  that  with  fever  burned, 
And  a  light  to  the  half-closed  eyes  returned  ; 
And  it  cooled  his  brow,  and  lulled  his  pain, 
And  dimpled  his  cheek  with  a  smile  again. 
A  warrior  looked  on  his  blushing  bride 
As  she  drew  for  a  moment  her  veil  aside, 
And  it  shone  on  a  wreath  like  a  diamond  rare, 
'Mid  the  clustering  curls  of  her  auburn  hair. 
But  dreary  and  sad  was  its  fate  at  last, 
For  the  roses  died  and  the  summer  passed ; 
And  the  zephyr,  too,  on  its  idle  wing 
Had  left  it  alone  like  a  blighted  thing ; 
And  the  frost  spirit  came  when  the  night  was  still, 
And  it  froze  at  the  touch  of  his  fingers  chill ; 
And  the  tale  of  the  raindrop,  bright  and  brief, 
Is  heard  in  the  moan  of  the  autumn  leaf. 


THE  VIOLET'S  ANSWER. 

"  LITTLE  violet,  thou  art  lonely ; 

Wilt  thou  come  and  bloom  with  me  ? 
All  thy  sister  flowers  have  faded  ; 

None  are  left  to  care  for  thee." 
"  No,"  she  answered,  "  let  me  rather 

In  this  quiet  valley  stay ; 
Near  the  graves  of  those  I  cherish 

Let  me  live  my  life  away, 

Till  I  wither  and  decay." 


32  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

THE  MAIDEN  AND  HER  CANOE. 

SPEEDING  along  so  fleetly 

Over  the  waters  blue, 
Who  is  that  dark-eyed  maiden 

Guiding  her  bark  canoe  ? 
Swiftly  the  tide  is  flowing  ; 

Is  there  no  danger  near, 
Danger  to  her  now  gliding 

Over  the  waters  clear  ? 
Ah,  she  has  reached  the  forest, 

Gayly  she  drops  the  oar ; 
Now  like  a  fawn  we  see  her 

Leap  to  the  emerald  shore  ; 
Laughing,  she  hurls  an  arrow 

Quick  from  her  painted  bow ; 
Is  it  a  promised  signal  ? 

Where  will  the  arrow  go  ? 
Yonder  a  stalwart  hunter 

Peers  through  the  deepening  shade, 
Catches  the  lover's  token, 

Welcomes  the  gentle  maid. 
Now  in  her  queenly  beauty 

Rises  the  summer  moon  ; 
All  the  young  flowers  are  sleeping, 

All  the  sweet  flowers  of  June  ; 
What  doth  the  hunter  whisper 

Soft  in  the  maiden's  ear  ? 
Why  is  her  warm  cheek  blushing  ? 

Say,  shall  we  pause  and  hear  ? 


SECULAR  POEMS.  33 

Ah,  there  are  vows  repeated, 

Pledges  of  love  are  given, 
Pure  as  the  stars  that  glisten 

Bright  in  the  arch  of  heaven. 
Now  to  her  home  returning 

Over  the  waters  blue, 
Lightly  the  happy  maiden 

Sings  in  her  bark  canoe. 
Wind  of  the  east,  old  Wabun, 

Wake  from  thy  drowsy  sleep, 
Scatter  the  breath  of  lilies 

Over  the  crystal  deep ; 
Touch  not  the  maiden's  tresses ; 

Love  hath  her  heart  beguiled ; 
Spirits  of  air,  watch  o'er  her, 

Rose  of  the  forest  wild. 


MINNIE'S  BIRTHDAY. 

I  SAT  in  the  soft  gray  twilight, 

And  mused  on  a  single  star 
That  shone  like  a  sparkling  jewel 

And  scattered  its  beams  afar ; 
I  sat  by  a  murmuring  brooklet, 

And,  low  on  a  mossy  bed 
That  cradled  a  pure  white  lily, 

I  pillowed  my  weary  head ; 
A  balmy  sleep  stole  o'er  me, 

And  lightly  I  sped  away 
3 


34  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Where  a  social  group  had  gathered 

On  a  maiden's  natal  day ; 
And  the  maiden  was  young  and  happy ; 

And  her  mild  eyes  seemed  so  bright, 
I  thought  they  had  caught  a  luster 

From  the  star  that  had  blessed  my  sight; 
I  saw  it  ere  slumber  wooed  me  ; 

And  now  to  that  rustic  bower 
It  came  with  the  smile  of  the  angel 

That  guarded  that  festive  hour. 

I  sat  in  the  soft  gray  twilight, 

Unseen  by  that  goodly  throng, 
And  I  heard  their  voices  blending 

In  many  a  joyous  song ; 
And  the  maiden  was  young  and  gentle ; 

So  gentle  was  she  and  kind, 
The  lily  beside  the  brooklet 

Was  still  with  my  dream  entwined ; 
And  many  a  wish  was  tendered, 

And  sealed  with  affection's  tears, 
That  the  roses  which  then  were  budding 

Might  bloom  in  her  after  years ; 
And  a  mother's  heart  beat  fondly 

As  she  looked  on  her  daughter  fair, 
And  the  dewy  breeze  bore  upward 

A  sigh  and  a  fervent  prayer — 
A  prayer  that  no  lips  but  a  mother's 

With  feelings  so  warm  can  breathe — 
A  prayer  that  a  Saviour's  blessing 

Might  follow  that  birthday  eve. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  35 

Like  the  parting  of  summer  wavelets 

As  they  sink  to  a  calm  repose, 
Were  the  sweet  good-byes  that  were  spoken 

At  that  festive  evening's  close  ; 
But  the  star  of  the  soft  gray  twilight 

Will  ne'er  from  the  maiden  part, 
And  the  lily  beside  the  brooklet 

Will  live  in  her  guileless  heart. 

What  meaneth  this  play  of  fancy  ? 

And  who  can  the  maiden  be  ? 
Say,  Minnie,  canst  thou  not  guess  it  ? 

I'll  help  thee,  for  thou  art  she ; 
And  I  pray  that  thy  life  may  ever 

Flow  onward  as  calmly  bright 
As  the  star  and  the  smile  of  the  angel 

That  rest  on  thy  brow  to-night. 


NANNETTE. 

'TlS  years  since  first  she  came  to  me 
In  all  her  merry  girlish  glee  ; 
And  yet  my  fancy  now  can  trace 
Her  sylphlike  form,  her  modest  grace, 
Her  dimpled  cheeks  of  rosy  hue, 
Her  coral  lips,  and  eyes  so  blue 
That  from  their  azure  depths  serene 
The  lovelight  of  her  soul  was  seen. 
O  never  can  my  heart  forget 
Our  little  Queen  of  May,  Nannette. 


36  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

How  timid,  when  we  chose  her  queen, 

And  crowned  her  on  the  village  green  ! 

Yet  in  a  moment,  self-possessed, 

A  few  brief  words  her  thanks  expressed, 

And  then  in  song  and  artless  play 

The  hours  went  by  till  close  of  day. 

And  Harry  Lee  remembers  yet 

Our  little  Queen  of  May,  Nannette  ; 

He  sought  her  'neath  a  rustic  shade 

To  which  from  mazy  dance  she  strayed  ; 

And,  not  unwilling,  did  she  hear 

His  honest  vows  of  love  sincere  ; 

Nor  was  it  strange  ere  set  of  sun 

Their  hearts  had  melted  into  one. 

Three  happy  summers  came  and  went, 
And  Harry  all  his  powers  had  bent 
To  one  great  object,  which  had  proved 
How  hard  he  toiled,  how  deep  he  loved. 
'Twas  gained  at  last ;  he  saw  complete 
A  simple  dwelling,  plain  and  neat, 
And  dear  Nannette,  his  loving  bride, 
Its  happy  mistress  and  its  pride. 
I  know  he  never  will  forget 
Our  little  Queen  of  May,  Nannette. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  37 

TO  A  BIRD. 

THE  clewdrops  are  melting  away,  my  bird, 
The  sunbeams  are  kissing  the  flowers; 

And  hast  thou  no  greeting,  no  song  of  delight, 
To  welcome  these  lovely  hours  ? 

0  why  art  thou  drooping  and  sad,  my  bird  ? 
And  why  dost  thou  cease  to  sing? 

Wouldst  thou  fly  to  the  groves  of  thine  own  fair 

isle? 
Art  thou  eager  to  spread  thy  wing  ? 

And  what  if  I  let  thee  go,  my  bird? 

How  heartless  I  then  should  be ; 
For  the  journey  is  long,  and  thy  strength  would  fail; 

Thou  wouldst  never  come  back  to  me. 

1  will  give  thee  a  glad  surprise,  my  bird  ; 
Thou  shalt  play  with  the  laughing  breeze  ; 

I  will  hang  thy  cage  in  a  shady  nook  ; 
It  shall  swing  in  the  leafy  trees. 

Ah,  now  thou  art  happy  again,  my  bird, 

And  thy  voice  rings  out  so  clear 
That  the  robin,  the  wren,  and  the  bluebird,  too, 

Are  coming  its  thrill  to  hear. 

Ah,  yes,  thou  art  happy  again,  my  bird, 

And  lonely  thou  ne'er  shalt  be  ; 
I  will  make  thy  life  like  a  sweet  spring  day, 

If  still  thou  wilt  carol  for  me. 


38  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


VOICE   OF  THE  NIGHT  WIND. 

VOICE  of  the  night  wind,  mournfully  stealing 

Forth  from  the  depths  of  thy  dark  ocean  cave, 
Shrieking  in  terror,  wailing  in  pity, 

Chanting  a  dirge  o'er  the  mariner's  grave, — 
What  art  thou  saying  ?  eager,  I  listen, 

Catching  each  note  of  thy  tremulous  moan, 
While  my  worn  spirit,  pining  with  anguish, 

Sighs  for  the  friends  that  have  left  it  alone. 

Voice  of  the  night  wind,  speak  to  me  gently, 

Tell  of  the  days  that  were  cloudless  and  bright ; 
Bring,  if  thou  canst,  the  fond  hopes  I  have  cher- 
ished, 

Clothe  them  in  beauty  and  deck  them  with  light ; 
Still  thou  art  sighing,  drearily  sighing, 

Fitfully  breathing  thy  desolate  moan, 
While  my  worn  spirit,  crushed  and  forsaken, 

Weeps  for  the  friends  that  have  left  it  alone. 


THE  OLD  YEAR. 

SHALL  I  weep  for  thee,  Old  Year? 

I  rejoiced  when  thou  wert  born  ; 
And,  with  mirth  and  festive  cheer, 

Hpw  I  hailed  the  blushing  morn, 
Cold  and  crisp,  and  yet  so  clear ! 

Shall  I  weep  for  thee,  Old  Year? 


SECULAR  POEMS.  39 

Thou  art  dying,  and  the  bell 
Soon  will  toll  thy  parting  knell 
Through  the  lonely,  silent  dell, 

Where,  with  footstep  light  and  free, 

When  the  dew  was  on  the  lea, 
And  the  violets  came  in  spring, 
Like  a  bird  I  used  to  sing ; 

But  the  winter  now  is  here  ; 

Shall  I  weep  for  thee,  Old  Year  ? 

O  the  winter  of  the  heart 

When  it  hears  the  stormwinds  blow, 
When  it  sees  each  flower  depart, 

When  it  lays  them  'neath  the  snow, 

'Neath  the  white  and  feathery  snow ! 

How  it  longs  like  thee  to  go  ! 
For  its  days  are  dark  and  drear; 
Shall  I  weep  for  thee,  Old  Year  ? 

Thou  art  gone,  and  in  thy  place, 
With  a  bright  and  smiling  face, 

Comes  the  New  Year,  fair  as  thou, 

With  a  chaplet  on  his  brow  ; 
And  his  voice  is  sweet  and  clear; 
Shall  I  weep  for  thee,  Old  Year  ? 

But  the  spring  will  come  ere  long, 
And  my  heart  will  then  be  gay, 

When  I  hear  the  wild  bird's  song 
As  in  many  a  bygone  day, 

And  the  sky  will  be  as  clear 

As  thine  own,  O  vanished  year. 


40  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

AMERICAN   HEARTS  AND   HOMES. 

YE  may  sing  of  the  palmy  isles  that  sleep 

Like  pearls  on  the  ocean's  breast, 
Where  the  spirits  of  beauty  their  vigil  keep, 

And  the  oriole  builds  her  nest ; 
Ye  may  tell  of  the  classic  founts  that  flow 

In  the  sweet  Arcadian  bowers, 
Where  the  mellow  tints  of  the  sunlight  glow 

As  they  play  with  the  rosy  hours. 

But  give  me  the  land  of  the  rocking  pine 

And  the  brave  old  forest  oak, 
That  rang  with  the  lofty  strains  sublime 

That  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  woke, 
When  their  barque  was  moored  and  its  anchor  cast 

'Mid  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun, 
When  the  storms  of  the  troubled  deep  were  passed, 

And  their  weary  voyage  was  done. 

There  was  joy  in  the  hearts  of  our  Pilgrim  Sires 

As  on  Plymouth  Rock  they  stood, 
And  the  welcome  light  of  their  crackling  fires 

Loomed  up  through  the  forest  wood  ; 
And  they  praised  the  Lord  and  adored  His  grace 

Who  had  brought  them  o'er  the  sea  ; 
For  now  they  had  found  a  resting  place, 

And  to  worship  Him  were  free. 

Though  dreary  and  wild  was  that  wave-girt  shore, 
And  cold  was  the  wintry  air, 


SECULAR  POEMS.  41 

The  voice  of  the  tyrant  was  heard  no  more ; 

The  angel  of  peace  was  there  ; 
And  a  radiant  gem  from  her  crown  she  set 

In  the  path  where  the  moonlight  roams — 
A  star  that  in  glory  is  shining  yet 

O'er  American  hearts  and  homes. 

O,  that  beacon  of  hope  in  the  darkest  hour 

That  hung  o'er  oppression's  night, 
Was   the   guard  of  the  brave;  and  they  felt  its 
power 

As  they  looked  on  its  steady  light ; 
But  over  each  link  of  the  tyrant's  chain 

The  surge  of  old  ocean  foams, 
And  Freedom  the  goddess  that  dwells  and  reigns 

In  American  hearts  and  homes. 

Now  the  Stars  and  Stripes  of  our  country  wave 

Far,  far  o'er  the  distant  sea, 
And  herald  the  deeds  of  the  gallant  brave. 

And  tell  of  the  noble  free  ; 
And  the  lonely  exile  worn  with  grief, 

As  weary  and  sad  he  roams, 
May  find  for  each  sorrow  a  sweet  relief 

In  American  hearts  and  homes. 

Let  me  die  in  the  land  where  my  native  streams 

In  their  stately  grandeur  flow  ; 
Where  the  tender  smile  of  affection  beams, 

And  the  skies  in  their  beauty  glow ; 


42  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

On  the  standard  of  Freedom  my  eyes  would  rest 
Ere  my  spirit  heavenward  roams  ; 

I  would  give  the  last  sigh  of  a  faithful  breast 
To  American  hearts  and  homes. 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 

"  THEY'RE  coming  home  to-morrow  night 

A  happy  time  'twill  be  ;  " 
The  old  man  wiped  his  spectacles, 

And  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee; 
"  We'll  have  the  candles  lighted, 

And  burning  in  the  hall ; 
They're  coming  home  to-morrow  night, 

The  little  ones  and  all. 

"  Now,  Susie,  don't  be  idle  ; 

There's  heaps  of  work  to  do ; 
The  pumpkin  pies  are  yet  to  make, 

The  tarts  and  doughnuts,  too  ; 
Your  limbs  are  young  and  supple, 

And  therefore  you  should  be 
As  nimble  as  a  cricket, 

And  busy  as  a  bee. 

"  Poor  grandma  can't  do  everything, 

For  she  is  growing  old  ; 
And  yet,  for  all,  I  tell  you 

She's  worth  your  weight  in  gold. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  43 

There,  grandpa  was  not  scolding ; 

Don't  cry,  but  run  away ; 
They're  coming  home  to-morrow  night, 

To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day. 

"  I  am  too  harsh  with  Susie  ; 

I  wish  I  was  not  so  ; 
She  always  tries  to  please  me, 

And  does  her  best,  I  know ; 
She  left  her  home  and  parents, 

And  came  with  us  to  stay  ; 
Well,  she  shall  have  a  brand-new  comb 

To  wear  Thanksgiving  Day. 

"  Ah,  there  she  comes  with  grandma, 

As  chipper  as  a  bird, 
Her  face  all  smiles  and  sunshine  ; 

She  has  not  told  a  word  ; 
She  never  tells,  but  hides  them, 

The  cruel  words  I  say  ; 
But  she'll  not  be  the  loser 

On  next  Thanksgiving  Day. 

"  They're  coming  home  to-morrow  night, 

Ruth,  Phoebe,  Grace,  and  Ann, 
Josiah,  David,  Benjamin, 

Luke,  Abel,  Nate,  and  Dan, 
Their  children,  wives,  and  husbands,  too ; 

Some  now  are  on  their  way  ; 
They'll  all  be  home  to-morrow  night, 

To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day. 


44  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

"  Our  Dan  is  Susie's  father  ; 

A  likely  boy  was  he  ; 
He  married  very  early ; 

His  wife  was  Patience  Lee, 
The  finest  girl  in  Springfield, 

And  well-to-do  beside  ; 
The  Worcester  folks  turned  out,  I  guess, 

When  Dan  brought  home  his  bride. 

"  Our  children  are  not  handsome, 

But,  like  their  mother,  good  ; 
She  never  spared  the  rod  on  them, 

But  trained  them  as  she  should ; 
They're  every  one  a  credit ; 

And  proud  am  I  to  say, 
They're  coming  home  to-morrow  night, 

To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day." 

Up  rose  that  stalwart  farmer 

Of  threescore  years  and  ten, 
And  one  might  almost  fancy 

He  was  growing  young  again  ; 
He  stepped  around  so  quickly ; 

And  oft  was  heard  to  say, 
"  They're  coming  home  to-morrow  night, 

To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day." 

He  walked  about  the  farmyard, 

Among  the  poultry  there, 
And  looked  to  see  that  all  were  fed, 

With  more  than  usual  care  ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  45 

And  then  he  met  a  neighbor, 
And  stopped  him  just  to  say, 

"  They'll  all  be  home  to-morrow  night, 
To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day." 

At  length  the  morrow's  morning 

Broke  cloudless  and  serene, 
And  Farmer  Jones  was  early 

A  watcher  of  the  scene ; 
His  consort,  too,  had  risen  ; 

And  Susie,  glad  and  gay, 
Called  out,  "  Good  morning,  grandpa ; 

I'm  just  fifteen  to-day." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  a  present," 

Her  grandpa  smiling  said; 
"  What  shall  I  bring  you,  Daisy  ?  " 

He  stroked  her  glossy  head  ; 
She  looked  at  him  and  answered, 

Through  tears  that  glistened  bright, 
"  O  love  me  just  a  little 

When  they  all  come  home  to-night." 

And  long  before  the  shadows 

Had  gathered  in  the  west, 
The  baking  was  completed, 

The  poultry  killed  and  dressed  ; 
The  pretty  comb  was  purchased, 

And  Susie  heard  to  say, 
"  Dear  grandpa,  how  I  thank  you  ; 

You've  cheered  my  heart  to-day." 


46  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Soon  wagon  after  wagon 

Rolled  up  before  the  door ; 
The  house  was  filled  with  music 

And  merriment  once  more  ; 
The  candles,  too,  were  lighted, 

And  burning  in  the  hall, 
And  Farmer  Jones  was  shaking  hands 

With  little  ones  and  all. 

The  evening  meal  concluded, 

The  children  snug  in  bed, 
The  older  ones  grew  thoughtful, 

And  then  a  prayer  was  said  ; 
And  Farmer  Jones  with  reverence 

Did  not  forget  to  say, 
"  I  praise  Thee,  Lord,  that  all  are  here, 

To  spend  Thanksgiving  Day." 

And  once  again  'twas  morning  ; 

In  health  they  all  arose; 
Beneath  their  own  paternal  roof 

How  tranquil  their  repose  ! 
The  day  was  soft  and  balmy, 

And  all  to  church  had  gone. 
Except  the  little  ones  they  left 

To  play  upon  the  lawn. 

The  sermon  was  impressive, 
It  spoke  of  by-gone  years  ; 

And  all  the  congregation 
Were  melted  into  tears — 


SECULAR  POEMS.  47 

Glad  tears  they  were,  and  grateful 

To  Him  who  from  above 
Had  blessed  their  yearly  harvest, 

And  crowned  it  with  His  love. 

A  simple  prayer  was  offered, 

And  then  the  Pastor  came, 
Shook  hands  with  all  so  warmly, 

And  greeted  each  by  name ; 
The  poor  were  not  forgotten, 

Nor  slighted  by  the  way, 
But  shared  his  benediction 

On  that  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Home  went  our  friends  delighted  ; 

The  hour  was  somewhat  late ; 
The  large,  old-fashioned  table  groaned 

Beneath  its  heavy  weight 
Of  poultry,  pies,  and  puddings, 

Of  every  name  and  kind, 
And  fragrant  tea  that  so  revives 

And  renovates  the  mind. 

And  thus  the  day  wore  onward, 

Till  all  its  joys  were  passed ; 
The  stars  came  out  at  twilight, 

The  evening  closed  at  last ; 
And,  when  to  rest  retiring, 

They  all  were  heard  to  say, 
"  God  bless  our  clear  New  England 

For  such  a  glorious  day." 


48  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

CORA  LEE:  A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

FOR   CHILDREN. 

'  TWAS  Christmas  Eve,  and  from  the  street 
Was  heard  the  tread  of  merry  feet, 
And  happy  voices.     All  were  glad ; 
How  could  a  single  heart  be  sad 
When  such  a  festival  was  near, 
The  greatest  one  of  all  the  year  ? 
The  bells  gave  out  a  clearer  tone, 
The  lamps  with  dazzling  beauty  shone 
From  windows  filled  with  costly  toys, 
Inviting  groups  of  girls  and  boys 
To  come  and  purchase  if  they  would  ; 
And  wealth  and  want  together  stood — 
The  one  with  lavish  hand  to  buy, 
The  other  with  a  wishful  eye 
To  gaze,  admire,  and  turn  away 
Dejected  from  that  bright  array. 

Now  busy  toil  gave  place  to  rest, 
And  homes  were  brilliant,  churches  dressed 
With  evergreens,  festooned  with  flowers, 
To  greet  the  blessed  Christmas  hours  ; 
And  children's  parties,  too,  there  were, 
And  trees  all  hung  with  presents  rare, 
And  cherry  lips  that  pouting  said, 
As  wearily  the  golden  head 


SECULAR  POEMS.  49 

Dropped  on  its  pillow  soft  and  white, 
"  O  nurse,  my  stocking  is  so  small 
That,  when  old  Santa  comes  to-night, 
He  will  not  know  it's  there  at  all ; 
I  want  a  bigger  one  than  this ;  " 
And  then,  in  sweet  forgetfulness, 
How  soon  beneath  each  silken  lid 
Those  lovely,  laughing  orbs  were  hid ! 
"  Joy  !  joy  !  mamma,"  cried  Cora  Lee, 
"  Look  what  papa  has  brought  for  me — 
A  set  of  jewels,  pin  and  rings, 
A  pair  of  bracelets,  just  the  things ; 
See  how  they  glitter  in  the  light ; 
I  know  I'll  be  a  belle  to-night ; 
These  jewels  make  my  dress  complete ; 
Mamma,  do  you  not  think  them  sweet  ?  " 
Her  mother  shook  her  head  and  sighed  ; 
"  Why,  Cora,  darling,"  she  replied, 
"  I  thought  your  dress  complete  before ; 
It  really  needed  nothing  more  ; 
Papa's  indulgent  love,  I  fear, 
Has  made  you  proud  and  vain,  my  dear; 
Now  while  your  gathering  ought  to  be 
A  scene  of  gay  festivity, 
While  every  face  with  joy  should  glow, 
No  time  your  vanity  to  show  ; 
Remember  why  this  eve  we  keep, 
And,  ere  you  close  your  eyes  to  sleep, 
Kneel  down,  my  child,  and  ask  of  Heaven 
That  this  your  fault  may  be  forgiven." 
4 


50  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

That  moment,  by  her  conscience  swayed. 

Had  Cora  listened  and  obeyed, 

The  evening  pleasantly  had  passed ; 

But  now  a  shade  is  o'er  it  cast ; 

With  marked  displeasure  on  her  face, 

That  pained  her  mother's  heart  to  trace, 

She  sought  her  room,  and  closed  the  door 

And  in  the  mirror  o'er  and  o'er 

Surveyed  her  form,  indulged  her  pride, 

And  yet,  with  all  dissatisfied, 

She  would  have  given  worlds  to  feel 

One  loving  arm  around  her  steal ; 

But  merry  voices  from  below 

Were  calling  her,  and  she  must  go. 

She  met  her  friends,  and  tried  to  say 

As  many  cheerful  things  as  they ; 

Her  mother  joined  the  happy  throng, 

And  led  them  in  a  choral  song ; 

And  Santa  Claus  in  furs  arrayed 

His  annual  Christmas  visit  paid, 

And,  as  he  many  times  had  done, 

A  present  gave  to  everyone  ; 

'Twas  strange  that  Cora's  gift  should  be 

A  book,  its  name  "  Humility." 

With  wishes  for  the  coming  day, 

The  guests  delighted  went  away  ; 

And  Cora  in  her  room  once  more 

Took  up  her  book  and  looked  it  o'er. 

She  knew  who  Santa  Claus  had  been, 

And  needed  not  to  ask  again 


SECULAR  POEMS.  51 

What  mamma  meant ;  she  knew  it  all ; 

And  sadly  did  her  thoughts  recall 

Her  ill-timed  anger  when  reproved, 

And  justly,  too,  by  one  she  loved. 

And  now  that  little  work  explained 

Humility,  and  how  'twas  gained 

By  sacrifice  of  worldly  pride. 

And,  taken  as  our  only  guide, 

The  words  of  Him  who  came  on  earth, 

Despised,  oppressed,  of  lowly  birth, 

And  bore  our  sins  upon  the  tree 

That  cleansed  from  sin  we  all  might  be. 

And,  as  she  read,  the  midnight  bell 

Upon  the  air  like  music  fell ; 

Then,  kneeling  there,  she  asked  of  Heaven 

That  all  her  faults  might  be  forgiven. 

O,  did  a  voice  to  hers  reply  ? 

Was  Bethlehem's  star  in  yonder  sky  ? 

And  did  its  glory  shine  again 

As  when  it  rose  on  Bethlehem's  plain, 

While  multitudes  of  angels  sang, 

And  heaven  with  hallelujahs  rang? 

Too  happy  she  for  sleep  that  night, 

But  with  the  blush  of  morning  light 

She  told  her  parents  what  had  passed, 

And  how  her  faith  had  found  at  last 

A  jewel,  fadeless,  priceless,  rare, 

That  in  her  soul  she  meant  to  wear, 

Till,  in  her  crown  of  life  divine, 

Its  luster  should  forever  shine. 


52  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


BID  ME  GOOD  NIGHT. 

BID  me  good  night  with  those  eloquent  eyes, 
Blue  as  the  depths  of  the  star-jeweled  skies, 
Pure  as  the  soul  that  looks  out  in  their  gaze  ; 
Blame  not,  O  blame  not  my  tribute  of  praise ; 
Come,  for  the  moments  are  speeding  their  flight 
Bid  me  good  night,  darling,  bid  me  good  night. 

Bid  me  good  night  with  a  smile  that  will  say 
More  than  thy  language  can  ever  portray ; 
Then  let  me  carry  that  smile  in  my  heart, 
Changed  to  a  pearl  by  love's  magical  art ; 
Come,  for  the  moments  are  speeding  their  flight 
Bid  me  good  night,  darling,  bid  me  good  night. 

Bid  me  good  night  with  a  sigh  that  will  tell 
Every  sweet  impulse  thou  knowest  so  well, 
All  thy  affection  confided  to  me, 
All  the  fond  vows  I  have  whispered  to  thee ; 
Come,  for  the  moments  are  speeding  their  flight ; 
Bid  me  good  night,  darling,  bid  me  good  night. 

Bid  me  good  night  with  a  word  that  can  speak 
All  I  am  hoping  and  all  that  I  seek; 
Wishing  my  dreams  may  be  happy  and  bright, 
Bid  me  good  night,  darling,  bid  me  good  night ; 
Come,  for  the  moments  are  speeding  their  flight ; 
Bid  me  good  night,  darling,  bid  me  good  night. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  53 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  CINCINNATI. 

WHAT  ?  forget  thee,  Cincinnati, 

Lovely  city  of  the  West  ? 
Never  till  the  pulse  of  feeling 

Throbs  its  last  within  my  breast. 
I  have  spent  such  days  of  pleasure, 

O,  such  months  of  joy  in  thee, 
That  the  very  thought  of  leaving 

Brought  unwelcome  tears  to  me. 
I  can  see  thy  stately  buildings ; 

They  are  all  before  me  yet ; 
I  can  see  thy  fountain  goddess 

Throw  aloft  a  spray  of  jet ; 
Taste,  magnificence  and  splendor 

In  that  work  of  art  are  shown, 
Far  exceeding  in  impression 

Anything  I  e'er  have  known. 
Churches,  Sunday-schools  and  missions 

Do  thee  credit,  every  one ; 
For  the  humble  and  the  lowly 

Thou  a  noble  work  hast  done. 
In  a  church  I  heard,  one  Sabbath — 

And  it  seemed  to  me  sublime — 
Fifteen  hundred  children  singing 

"  Precious  Name  "  in  perfect  time. 
Thou  canst  boast  a  hall  of  learning 

Filled  with  books  of  endless  store ; 
And  that  Wesleyan  College  numbers 

Half  a  century  and  more. 


54  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

What  a  glorious  scene  to  view  it 

Grouped  with  girls  of  talents  rare, 
Poring  o'er  its  ponderous  volumes — 

Not  a  moment  wasted  there  ! 
And,  among  thy  sweet  environs, 

Pleasant  thoughts  are  clinging  still 
Round  the  names  of  dear  Mount  Auburn, 

Clifton  Park,  and  Corryville. 
There's  a  dwelling  on  Mount  Auburn 

That  my  heart  remembers  well ; 
I  ascend  to  its  veranda, 

And  my  hand  is  on  the  bell. 
Just  the  same  as  when  I  left  it, 

Comes  the  old  familiar  sound ; 
Now  the  door  flies  quickly  open, 

And  I  enter  with  a  bound. 
I  must  calm  this  burst  of  transport, 

I  must  stay  its  sudden  flight, 
For  my  brain  is  growing  giddy 

'Mid  a  whirl  of  gay  delight. 
With  the  first  warm  greeting  over, 

Up  the  easy  stairs  I  glide  ; 
By  a  cheerful  grate  they  place  me, 

All  my  wrappings  thrown  aside. 
Then  begins  a  conversation. 

And  the  time  flies  quick  and  fast ; 
By  and  by  a  summons  calls  us 

To  the  closing  day's  repast. 
This  is  not  a  dreamy  picture 

Drawn  from  fancies  floating  free  ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  55 

That  Mount  Auburn  home  is  real, 

True  to  life  as  truth  can  be. 
What?  forget  thee,  Cincinnati, 

Lovely  city  of  the  West  ? 
Never  till  the  pulse  of  feeling 

Throbs  its  last  within  my  breast. 


POETS'  CORNER. 

THOMAS   MOORE. 

O  BARD  of  Erin,  who  like  thee 
Could  paint  that  boat  on  Omar's  sea ; 
Those  frightful  rocks  where,  blade  in  hand, 
Around  their  chief  the  Ghebers  stand ; 
The  unequal  strife,  the  flames  that  rise 
Where  Hafed  vanquished  falls  and  dies, 
While  Hinda,  shrieking  for  the  brave, 
Is  lost  forever  'neath  the  wave  ? 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 
Among  thy  rich,  prolific  lays, 
I  most  of  all  admire  and  praise 
King  Arthur's  passing ;  this  has  won 
Thy  brightest  laurels,  Tennyson. 

MRS.   HEMANS. 

Canst  thou  behold,  from  yonder  sky, 
Where  once  the  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  rock-bound  coast,  and,  midst  their  roar 
Upon  the  wild  New  England  shore, 
While  night  hung  heavy,  cold  and  dark, 
A  band  of  exiles  moored  their  barque  ? 


56  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

ELIZA  COOK. 

I  treasure  yet  the  old  armchair, 
And  on  my  heart  its  memory  bear; 
And  still  Britannia  loudly  cheers 
Thy  banner  of  a  thousand  years. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 

Prayer  was  thy  burden  of  a  sigh, 

The  upward  glancing  of  thine  eye, 

Thy  vital  breath,  thy  native  air, 

And  thou  did'st  enter  Heaven  with  prayer. 

HORATIUS  BONAR. 

Thy  harp  was  made  and  tuned  above ; 
Its  songs  are  of  a  Saviour's  love, 
Of  palm  and  crown,  and  city  fair, 
And  spotless  robes  the  righteous  wear. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Sweet  Laughing  Water !  dear  to  me 

That  Indian  tale  will  ever  be, 

So  blent  with  every  witching  art 

That  lures  the  sense  and  charms  the  heart. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

Didst  hear  thy  summons  when  it  came, 
When  soft  the  angel  breathed  thy  name? 
Didst  round  thee  fold  thy  drapery  white, 
And,  bidding  all  the  world  good  night, 
Beneath  that  star  from  heaven  that  beams, 
Didst  lay  thee  down  to  pleasant  dreams  ? 


SECULAR  POEMS.  57 

J.   G.   WHITTIER. 

I  would  be  Snow  Bound  many  a  day 
If  I  could  sit  and  hear  thee  say, 
"  Of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen 
The  saddest  are  these,  it  might  have  been." 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 

Thy  Hagar  when  the  tent  she  left, 
Of  all  except  her  pride  bereft, 
Thy  leper  cleansed  by  power  divine — 
All  at  this  moment  round  me  twine; 
O  Willis,  would  thy  muse  were  mine. 

LYDIA  H.  SIGOURNEY. 

What  transport  in  my  heart  awoke 
When  first  I  heard  thy  Charter  Oak ! 
That  seemed  an  inspiration  given 
By  Him  who  called  thee  home  to  Heaven. 

GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 

Yes,  poet,  yes,  I  weep  for  thee  ; 

Parted  for  aye  on  earth  are  we, 

Like  mountain  streams  that  shall  unite 

In  that  vast  river  of  delight 

Which  hath  its  source  in  yonder  clime 

Where  bells  of  joy  forever  chime. 

FRANCES  R.  HAVERGAL. 

Dear  sister,  o'er  the  wave-girt  sea 
A  kindred  spirit  yearns  for  thee, 
And  longs  in  heart  to  clasp  thy  hand, 
And  greet  thee  in  her  native  land, — 


58  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

To  mingle  friendship's  tones  with  thine, 
To  kneel  with  thee  at  that  loved  shrine 
Where  both,  perchance,  at  evening  meet, 
And  hold  with  God  communion  sweet. 


You  from  whose  garners  I  have  gleaned 
Such  precious  fruit,  the  task  has  seemed 
So  pleasant  that  my  humble  pen 
Would  fain  resume  its  work  again ; 
In  your  bright  realms  'twere  bliss  to  stay ; 
But  time  forbids,  and  I  obey. 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MINSTREL 
"  PEACE,  minstrel,  peace;  I'll  hear  no  more; 

I  have  been  weary  long; 
There  is  no  music  in  thy  heart, 

Nor  passion  in  thy  song ; 
Back  to  thy  dungeon  ;  thou  hast  failed 

To  give  me  what  I  crave  ; 
Go,  wear  thy  chains  ;  they  suit  thee  well , 

Go,  thou  art  still  a  slave ; 
What  care  I  for  thy  prosy  tales  ? 

They  have  no  charm  for  me  ; 
I  want  the  strains  of  bards  that  lived 

In  times  of  chivalry, 
When  cross  and  crescent  lit  a  spark 

That  fired  the  daring  brave  ; 
But,  like  a  statue,  thou  art  dumb, 

And  thou  should'st  die  a  slave. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  59 

"  Thou  knowest  naught  of  Palestine, 

Or  of  the  bold  crusade 
Against  the  rude  and  savage  hordes 

On  eastern  fields  arrayed. 
I've  stood  upon  the  very  spot ; 

E'en  now  in  thought  I  stand 
Where  lion-hearted  Richard  stood 

Among  his  trusty  band 
Of  noble  warriors  clad  in  steel, 

And  proof  against  the  foe ; 
Their  glittering  swords  where'er  they  came 

Struck  death  at  every  blow. 
Thy  words  are  false  ;  thou  canst  not  sing 

Their  deeds,  those  champions  brave  ; 
But  thou  shall  quail  beneath  my  wrath, 

And  be  tenfold  a  slave. 
I  had,  and  well  I  mind  him  now, 

A  page  of  talent  rare, 
A  slender  boy  of  graceful  mien, 

And  like  a  maiden  fair ; 
He  had  the  skill  to  comprehend 

What  pleased  his  monarch  best, 
And  when  that  monarch's  heart  grew  faint, 

He  hushed  its  care  to  rest ; 
His  lute  (methought  the  gods  had  tuned 

Its  wild,  ecstatic  thrill) 
Could  soothe  me  in  my  fiercest  moods, 

And  bend  me  to  its  will ; 
He  sang  of  beauty,  fame,  and  love, 

Of  victory  and  the  brave  ; 


60  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

He  sang  as  thou  canst  never  sing  ; 
No,  thou  shalt  die  a  slave." 

"Hold,  monarch,  hold,"  the  minstrel  cried, 

With  bloodless  lip  and  cheek, 
"Thou  art  unjust  to  blame  me  thus; 

My  fettered  limbs  are  weak ; 
How  can  I  wake  my  lute's  proud  strings 

To  victory  and  the  brave  ? 
How  can  I  sing  the  song  thou  lov'st 

When  I  am  but  a  slave  ? 
Remove  these  cruel  manacles, 

Unclasp  this  heavy  chain, 
And  let  me  breathe  the  blessed  air 

Of  freedom  once  again. 
I've  seen  thy  colors  o'er  and  o'er 

In  many  a  battle  wave  ; 
I  was  thy  pampered  favorite  then, 

But  now  I'm  but  thy  slave. 
Thou  drov'st  me  hence  ;  dost  thou  forget 

The  wrong  I  bore  from  thee  ? 
Did'st  thou  not  brand  me  with  a  crime 

Of  which  my  soul  was  free  ? 
Though  but  a  humble  peasant  boy, 

I  ne'er  purloined  thy  ring  ; 
And  now,  a  prisoner,  and  thy  slave, 

I  have  no  heart  to  sing. 
Why  did'st  thou  bear  me  from  the  field 

Where  sick  and  faint  I  lay  ? 
For  life  and  song  in  one  brief  hour 

Would  both  have  passed  away. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  61 

Unknown  to  thee,  above  my  head 

I  saw  thy  dagger  wave  ; 
Far  better  thou  had'st  slain  me  then 

Than  let  me  live  thy  slave." 

"  Take  heed,  take  heed,"  the  monarch  said  ; 

"  Play  thou  no  prank  with  me, 
For  by  my  sword  and  by  rny  crown 

Thy  skill  shall  tested  be." 

His  chains  fell  off,  and  o'er  the  lute 

His  fingers  quickly  ran, 
And  sang  he  of  the  glorious  time 

When  Richard  led  the  van. 
"  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he  !  "  the  monarch  cried, 

And  clasped  him  to  his  heart ; 
"O  minstrel,  minstrel,  thou  art  free, 

From  me  thou  ne'er  shalt  part. 
Forgive  me,  boy,  forgive  thy  liege, 

And  grant  the  boon  I  crave  ; 
Be  thou  my  pampered  favorite  still, 

My  minstrel,  not  my  slave." 


THE  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE. 

WITH  starry  flag  and  sable  plume 
They  bore  him  to  his  rest, 

And  laid  the  green  and  fragrant  sod 
Upon  the  warrior's  breast ; 


62  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  slowly,  softly,  chanted  they 

A  requiem  o'er  the  brave, 
Then  left  the  watchers  in  the  sky 

To  guard  the  soldier's  grave. 

He  stood  among  the  shattered  ranks 

On  that  dread  field  afar, 
Where  with  the  dawning  Sabbath  shone 

The  panoply  of  war ; 
And  foaming  steeds  dashed  madly  on 

With  hot  and  fiery  breath, 
Whose  riders,  e'er  the  twilight  came, 

Were  cold  and  still  in  death. 

The  vulture  to  its  ghastly  prey 

Flew  screaming  through  the  air, 
Its  cruel  talons  buried  deep 

In  many  a  victim  there  ; 
And,  all  that  ne'er  forgotten  night, 

Sad  wail  and  bitter  groan 
Came  struggling  up  from  anguished  hearts 

That  broke  and  died  alone. 

The  soldier's  grave — how  sweet  to  think 

He  saw  his  home  once  more ; 
And  though  he  had  but  strength  to  reach 

The  threshold  of  its  door, 
The  tender  light  of  kindred  eyes 

His  soul  a  comfort  gave ; 
He  knew  that  love  would  gather  flowers 

To  deck  the  soldier's  grave. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  63 

The  soldier's  grave — disturb  it  not, 

But  let  one  grateful  tear 
Drop  gently  o'er  the  sacred  urn 

Of  him  who  slumbers  here  ; 
Touch  not  a  leaf  on  yonder  tree 

Whose  branches  o'er  him  wave ; 
By  friendship's  hand  'twas  planted  there 

To  grace  the  soldier's  grave. 

Though  on  no  sculptured  monument 

Is  carved  his  well-earned  fame, 
And  only  on  a  simple  stone 

We  read  his  age  and  name, — 
Yet  they  who  saw  him  wield  his  sword 

With  arm  so  strong  and  brave 
Will  hallow  with  their  hearts'  best  tears 

The  comrade  soldier's  grave. 

Alas  !  that  noble,  honest  worth 

Should  thus  unhonored  sleep, 
With  only  those  who  know  it  best 

Above  its  dust  to  weep, 
While  vaunting,  boasting,  selfish  pride, 

To  cowardice  a  slave, 
Oft  wears  a  wreath  it  never  won, 

And  shares  a  patriot's  grave  ! 

Yet  in  that  great  decisive  day 
When  right  shall  claim  its  own, 

When  every  thought  and  word  and  work 
Now  hidden  shall  be  known, — 


64  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

When  peace  shall  hush  the  clang  of  war. 
And  love  her  standard  wave, — 

Then,  with  the  palms  they  died  to  win, 
Shall  truth  reward  the  brave. 


ONLY  A  LEAF. 

'TIS  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  its  story  is  fraught  with  pain  ; 
'Twas  the  gift  of  one  who  is  far  away, 

And  will  never  return  again  ; 
'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

And  yet  I  prize  it  so, 
For  it  brings  to  my  memory  the  brightest  hour 

I  ever  on  earth  shall  know. 

Ah,  smile  if  you  will  ;  your  lot  is  cast 

Where  pleasures  around  you  twine, 
And  your  heart  in  its  gladness  can  never  know 

The  grief  that  is  breaking  mine  ; 
You  have  wealth  and  friends  and  a  happy  home, 

With  never  a  thought  of  gloom ; 
But  my  life  is  cold,  and  its  hopes  are  dead, 

And  my  heart  is  a  living  tomb. 

He  was  all  I  had  in  the  world  to  love, 

He  was  all  who  cared  for  me  ; 
And  I  watched  his  boat  till  I  saw  it  sail 

Like  a  speck  on  the  broad  blue  sea ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  65 

And  there  came  a  voice,  'twas  a  dirgelike  voice, 

Out  of  the  deep,  dark  wave  ; 
And  it  told  of  one  in  a  stranger  land 

That  would  sleep  in  a  stranger's  grave. 

And  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  hid  my  face, 

And  uttered  a  low,  sad  cry, 
As  I  laid  me  down  on  that  lonely  shore 

And  prayed  that  I  might  die ; 
And  though  my  prayer  was  a  selfish  prayer, 

I  know  it  was  all  forgiven, 
For  a  beam  shot  down  that  illumed  my  soul 

From  a  pitying  eye  in  heaven. 

'Twas  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  I  gaze  on  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  I  think  of  a  hand  that  held  it  first, 

A  hand  I  shall  clasp  no  more ; 
I  know  not  how,  but  a  message  came, 

A  message  that  briefly  said, 
"  Farewell,  my  own,  it  is  over  now  ; 

The  dream  of  our  youth  has  fled." 

I  pressed  the  scroll  to  my  burning  lips, 

And  the  leaf  to  my  lonely  breast 
That  beat  and  throbbed  with  an  aching  throb, 

And  was  filled  with  a  wild  unrest ; 
And  I  still  live  on,  like  a  captive  bird 

That  pines  in  its  cage  so  fair, 
And  longs  for  a  breath  from  the  orange  groves, 

And  thinks  that  its  mate  is  there. 
5 


66  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  its  story  is  fraught  with  pain  ; 
'Twas  the  gift  of  one  who  is  far  away, 

And  will  never  return  again  ; 
He  will  never  return  ;  but  I  feel  ere  long 

My  spirit  with  his  shall  be, 
And  the  old-time  love  shall  be  sweeter  there 

Where  I  know  that  he  waits  for  me. 


CORA  BELL. 

WHERE  the  brooklet  from  the  hillside 

Laughs  and  sparkles  on  its  way, 
And  the  downy  crested  robin 

Trills  and  carols  all  the  day, — 
Where  the  springtime  lingers  longest, 

And  the  summer  loves  to  dwell, 
Where  the  autumn  fruits  are  sweetest, 

Bloomed  our  darling  Cora  Bell. 

Chorus  : 

There  was  gladness  in  her  footstep, 

And  her  song  was  like  a  spell ; 
Every  birdling  in  the  valley 
Knew  the  voice  of  Cora  Bell. 

Now  among  the  roses  hiding, 

Now,  in  merry  childish  glee, 
Breathing  strains  our  lips  had  taught  her, 

O,  'twas  joy  her  form  to  see  ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  67 

What  a  treasure  heaven  had  lent  us  ! 

How  we  loved  her  none  can  tell ; 
Sweetest  bud  that  ever  blossomed 

Was  our  darling  Cora  Bell. 

Silent,  voiceless,  to  our  dwelling 

Came  a  stranger  wan  and  pale, 
Laid  his  cold  and  icy  fingers 

On  our  lily  of  the  vale  ; 
While  we  watched  her  drooping,  fading, 

O'er  our  hearts  a  sorrow  fell, 
And  the  zephyr,  moaning,  sighing, 

Called  in  vain  our  Cora  Bell. 

Where  the  brooklet  from  the  hillside 

Wanders  on  its  pretty  way, 
And  the  ringdove  for  its  playmate 

Sits  and  pines  the  long,  long  day, — 
There  we  laid  a  broken  casket, 

But  the  soul  we  know  full  well 
Through  the  gate  of  life  has  entered  ; 

There  we'll  meet  our  Cora  Bell. 


OUR  BABY. 

You  have  never  seen  our  baby, 

Never  felt  our  Dottie's  kiss 
From  her  pretty  lips  of  coral, 

Or  your  heart  would  thrill  with  bliss ; 


68  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

You  may  think  your  own  a  treasure, 
And  the  fairest  of  your  flowers  ; 

Though  she  may  be  all  you  paint  her, 
She's  not  half  so  sweet  as  ours. 

No,  you  never  saw  our  baby, 

And  her  laugh  you  never  heard ; 
She  is  winsome,  she  is  playful, 

Ever  cooing  like  a  bird  ; 
And  her  brow  is  white  as  snowflakes, 

Rosy  dimples  on  her  cheek; 
And  her  brown  eyes,  bright  as  diamonds, 

How  they  sparkle  when  we  speak  ! 

O,  you  ought  to  see  our  baby  ; 

She  is  growing  every  day ; 
Every  moment  she  beguiles  us 

With  some  artless,  winning  way ; 
And  we  know  the  angels  guard  her, 

And  a  loving  watch  they  keep ; 
And  we  fancy  'tis  their  whisper 

Makes  her  smile  when  fast  asleep. 

O,  you  should  have  seen  our  baby 

Only  just  an  hour  ago, 
Dancing  in  our  arms  so  lightly 

While  her  face  was  all  aglow ; 
While  her  little  chubby  fingers 

Tried  to  catch  a  sunlit  ray 
As  it  darted  through  the  window, 

And  as  quickly  ran  away. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  69 

Would  you  like  to  see  our  baby  ? 

Like  a  lily  she  is  fair ; 
Would  you  throw  your  arms  around  her  ? 

Would  you  kneel  with  us  in  prayer 
That  the  God  of  love  and  mercy 

Would  protect  her  for  our  sake  ? 
For  should  aught  betide  our  darling, 

I  am  sure  our  hearts  would  break. 

Did  you  say,  "  God  bless  our  baby  ?  " 

How  we  thank  you  for  the  word ; 
And  the  best  and  purest  feelings 

In  our  bosoms  you  have  stirred  ; 
Did  you  say,  "  God  keep  our  baby  ?  " 

We'll  remember  you  for  this, 
And  our  Dottie,  when  she  sees  you, 

Will  reward  you  with  a  kiss. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  REVERIE. 

How  the  ever  fleeting  seasons 

Like  an  arrow  speed  away ! 
What !  another  year  departed, 

And  another  floral  day  ! 
Wheel  my  chair  beside  the  window, 

That  my  eyes  may  look  oncf  more 
On  the  few  surviving  comrades 

Who  will  pass  my  cottage  door. 


70  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

They  are  coming  in  the  distance, 

With  a  slow  and  measured  tread  ; 
They  are  coming  with  their  garlands 

For  our  country's  hallowed  dead  ; 
And  how  oft  I  sit  and  wonder, 

When  my  form  entombed  shall  be, 
If,  among  those  noble  veterans, 

There'll  be  one  to  care  for  me! 

In  the  foremost  of  the  battle, 

'Mid  the  scream  of  shot  and  shell, 
Side  by  side  we  fought  together 

For  the  flag  we  loved  so  well ; 
But  those  dreadful  scenes  are  over, 

And  their  gloom  has  passed  away ; 
There's  no  North  nor  South,  but  Union, 

In  our  native  land  to-day. 

O  that  sound  of  martial  music  ! 

How  it  thrills  me  with  its  strain, 
Bringing  back  my  soldier  courage 

And  my  patriot  pride  again  ! 
Though  the  sands  of  life  are  ebbing, 

And  I  have  not  long  to  stay, 
Yet  I  love  the  sacred  memories 

Of  this  grand  Memorial  Day. 

When  the  march  of  life  is  ending, 
And  its  closing  hour  draws  near, 

When  before  our  great  Commander 
We  are  summoned  to  appear, — 


SECULAR  POEMS.  71 

To  the  roll-call  that  shall  echo 
Like  a  trumpet  through  the  sky, 

May  we  each  of  us  be  ready 
With  the  answer,  "  Here  am  I." 


THE  HEART. 

THE  heart !  the  heart !  O  wound  it  not, 

That  fond  yet  fragile  thing ; 
Whose  tendrils,  like  the  clustering  vine, 

Around  thine  own  would  cling. 

Though  sunny  beams  may  o'er  thee  play, 
And  smiles  thy  lip  may  wreathe, 

And  tender  blossoms,  pure  and  white, 
Their  dewy  fragrance  breathe, — 

Thou  canst  not  tell  in  after  years 

How  dark  thy  fate  may  be  ; 
Then  spurn  thou  not  the  trusting  heart 

That  warmly  beats  for  thee. 

The  heart !  the  heart !  O  crush  it  not  ; 

'Tis  but  a  fragile  thing ; 
An  altered  look,  a  chilling  word, 

Might  break  its  sweetest  string. 

When,  one  by  one,  thy  treasured  hopes 
Like  withered  leaves  shall  fall, 

Then  wilt  thou  mourn,  alas,  too  late, 
What  tears  can  ne'er  recall. 


72  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

TWILIGHT  HOUR. 

VOICE  of  the  twilight  hour, 

How  sweet  is  thy  sound  to  me  ! 
For  my  soul  is  entranced  by  thy  soothing  power, 

And  its  sorrows  are  lost  in  thee  ; 
Thou  art  heard  in  the  trembling  strings 

Of  the  harp  which  the  breezes  wake ; 
In  the  bird,  as  her  farewell  note  she  sings 
To  the  golden  hues  which  the  sunset  flings 

O'er  the  breast  of  the  silver  lake. 


THEY  ARE  GONE. 

THEY  are  gone,  those  bright  and  blissful  hours 
When  the  soft  wind  laughed  'mid  the  greenwood 

bowers, 

And  the  night  bird  caroled  her  pensive  lay 
As  faded  the  crimson  tints  of  day ; 

And  the  dewdrops  came  at  the  evening's  close 
To  sleep  on  the  breast  of  the  mountain  rose ; 
They  are  gone  ;  those  blissful  hours  are  past, 
And  a  snow-white  robe  on  the  earth  is  cast. 

And  O,  when  our  friends  beloved  have  fled 
To  the  cold,  cold  mansions  of  the  dead, 
Like  the  fragrant  flowers  may  we  cease  to  bloom, 
And  sleep  with  them  in  the  peaceful  tomb. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  73 


SPEAK  NOT  HARSHLY. 

SPEAK  not  harshly  when  reproving 
Those  from  duty's  path  who  stray  ; 

If  we  would  reclaim  the  erring, 
Kindness  must  each  action  sway. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  wayward  ; — 
Win  their  confidence — their  love ; 

They  will  feel  how  pure  the  motive 
That  hath  led  us  to  reprove. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  stranger, 
Though  he  comes  in  humble  guise ; 

Think  how  slight  a  thing  would  kindle 
Gladness  in  a  stranger's  eyes. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  felon, 
Though  like  adamant  his  heart ; 

Touch  one  chord  of  fond  affection, 
And  the  scalding  tear  may  start. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  orphan, 
He  has  borne  of  grief  his  share ; 

Add  not  to  his  heavy  burden, 
Add  not  to  corroding  care. 

Speak  not  harshly,  was  the  precept 
Which  to  man  the  Saviour  taught ; — 

May  that  precept  ever  guide  us — 
Gentle  words  will  cost  us  naught. 


74  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


MAMMA'S  LULLABY. 

TIRED,  so  tired,  my  baby,  thou  art, 
Beautiful  sunbeam,  the  joy  of  my  heart ; 
Tired,  so  tired,  but  why  dost  thou  weep  ? 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  and  sing  thee  to  sleep ; 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  hush  thee  to  rest, 
Pillowed  so  gently  and  warm  on  my  breast ; 
Love  o'er  thy  cradle  a  vigil  will  keep, 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  and  sing  thee  to  sleep. 

Dear  little  baby,  so  lovely  and  fair, 
Sweet  Easter  lily,  my  treasure  and  care, 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  through  all  the  long  hours, 
Mamma  will  sing  thee  of  fairies  and  flowers  ; 
What  though  the  twilight  is  stealing  away 
All  the  young  birdlings  that  carol  to-day  ? 
What   though   the   shadows   around   thee    may 

creep  ? 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  and  sing  thee  to  sleep. 

Hide  'neath  their  lashes  those  pretty  blue  eyes, 
Till  in  its  splendor  the  morning  shall  rise ; 
Angels  above  thee  their  bright  watches  keep ; 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  and  sing  thee  to  sleep  ; 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  hush  thee  to  rest, 
Tenderly  guarded  and  fondly  caressed  ; 
Child  of  affection  so  hallowed  and  deep, 
Mamma  will  rock  thee  and  sing  thee  to  sleep. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  75 

LUCY'S  AND  EMMA'S  CONQUEST. 

LUCY  and  Emma,  two  bright  little  girls, 

With  brown,  glossy  ringlets  and  teeth  white  as 

pearls, 

Stood  watching  a  butterfly  busy  at  play 
Among  the  sweet  clover  that  grew  in  their  way, 
Along  a  green  meadow  that  led  to  their  home, 
And  where,  after  school,  'twas  their  custom  to 

roam. 

The  school  was  just  out,  and  the  teacher  had  said 
To  Lucy  and  Emma,  a  hand  on  each  head, 
"  My  children,  your  parents  to-night  you  must  tell 
How  happy  I  am  you  are  learning  so  well ; 
And  if  you  continue  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
A  credit  to  them  and  an  honor  to  me." 
"  We  thank  you,"  said  Lucy,  "  both  Emma  and  I ; 
We  hope  to  be  teachers  like  you  by  and  by ; 
But,  sir,  you'll  not  think  we  are  going  to  tease 
If  we  ask  you  to  write  in  a  note,  if  you  please, 
What  you  told  us  just  now  about  being  so  good ; 
'T would  look  better  written ;  don't  you  think  it 

would  ? 
Besides,  'twould  be  something  our  parents  could 

keep, 

And  read  it  together  when  we  were  asleep." 
"  I'll  write  it  with  pleasure,"  the  teacher  replied, 
"  I  am  glad  my  remark  did  not  waken  your  pride  ; 
And  now,  in  a  word,  this  advice  I  will  give, 
Remember  it,  children,  as  long  as  you  live, 


76  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

E'en  though  you  come  down  to  life's  short  winter 

days, — 

Do  right  for  the  sake  of  the  right,  not  for  praise." 
The  note  was  concluded,  directed,  and  sealed  ; 
A  sweet  satisfaction  their  faces  revealed, 
Not  lost  on  the  teacher,  who  inwardly  prayed 
That  these  dear  little  lambs  in  the  fold  might  be 

stayed 
Where  the  eyes  of  the  Shepherd  a  watch  ever 

keep, 
The   Shepherd  who   laid  down  his  life  for  the 

sheep. 

And  now  to  the  meadow  these  bright  little  girls 
Went  dancing,  and  skipping,  and  shaking  their 

curls, 

And  thinking  of  all  their  dear  parents  would  say, 
Till  they  came  to  the  butterfly  busy  at  play. 
"  O  Lucy,"  cried  Emma,  "  did  ever  you  see 
Such  beautiful  wings  ?     Won't  you  catch  him  for 

me  ?  " 
"  O,  no,"  answered  Lucy ;    "  the  poor,  helpless 

thing 

Would  die  in  your  hand  if  you  crippled  his  wing  ; 
Why,  not  for  the  world  would  I  catch  him  for  you  ; 
Let's  watch  him  a  moment  and  see  what  he'll  do." 

Will  Blair  and  Frank  Ellis,  two  boys  from  the 

school, 
Who  boasted  so  oft  that  they  ne'er  kept  a  rule, 


SECULAR  POEMS.  77 

Sprang  over  the  fence,  and,  on  mischief  intent, 
Toward    Lucy  and   Emma  their  footsteps  they 

bent. 
Their    coming   was    seen,   but    the  girls   never 

stirred, 
Though  they  knew  very  well  all  they  said  had 

been  heard. 
"  So,  so,  we  have  found  you,"  cried  Will  with  a 

sneer ; 

"  What's  this  you  are  guarding  so  carefully  here  ? 
Frank,  lend  me  your  kerchief;    but  stay,  never 

mind, 

An  easier  way  to  entrap  him  I'll  find." 
"  Please,  Willie,"  said  Lucy,  her  mild,  pleading 

eyes 

As  soft  in  their  light  as  the  blue  ether  skies, 
"  Please,  Willie,  don't  harm  that  poor  innocent 

thing, 

But  leave  him  to  sport  on  his  beautiful  wing  ; 
For  if  you  should  hurt  him  how  cruel  'twould  be. 
And  how  you  would  pain  sister  Emma  and  me ; 
She  is  talking  to  Frank ;  there's  a  blush  on  his 

cheek ; 
And  there's  good  in  your  heart ;  let  me  just  hear 

you  speak, 

And  say  you  will  never  be  naughty  again, 
But  always  obey  our  kind  teacher,  and  then 
How  happy  you'll  make  us  ;  come,  Will,  won't 

you  try  ?  " 
The  boy  hung  his  head,  but  he  could  not  reply ; 


78  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

He  was  conquered,  subdued,  and  resolved  from 

that  day 

To  lead  a  new  life  and  to  find  the  good  way ; 
While  Frank,  whom  the  kindness  of  Emma  had 

won, 

Was  equally  sorry  for  what  he  had  done, 
And  promised  henceforth  to  be  honest  and  true, 
And  love  in  his  heart  everyone  that  he  knew. 

The  butterfly  left,  for  his  mission  was  o'er ; 
They  searched  through  the  clover,  but  saw  him 

no  more  ; 

The  girls  hastened  home  to  their  parents,  and  then 
Their  note  was  read  over  and  over  again  ; 
The  teacher  dropped  in  while  they  sat  at  their 

tea; 

By  parents  and  children  right  welcome  was  he  ; 
He  sat  down  among  them,  delighted  to  share 
The  real  enjoyment  that  greeted  him  there. 

It  happened,  years  after,  when  Willie  and  Frank, 
Whose  names  were  enrolled  in  the  school's  high- 
est rank, 

Had  finished  their  studies,  and  then  settled  down 
Among  the  most  worthy  young  men  of  the  town — 
It  happened,  we  say,  that  two  bright,  merry  girls 
With  brown,  glossy  ringlets,  and  teeth  white  as 

pearls, 

Our  Lucy  and  Emma,  were  chosen  their  wives, 
To  cherish  and  love  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 


SECULAR  POEMS.  79 

[Written  in  answer  to  the  question,  Do  you  love  children  ?] 

DO  YOU  LOVE  CHILDREN  ? 

LOVE  the  children  ?     What  a  question  ! 

Cold  indeed  the  heart  must  be 
That  can  turn  without  emotion 

From  their  laughter  gushing  free  ; 
Yes,  with  all  my  heart  I  love  them ; 

Bless  the  children,  every  one ! 
I  can  be  a  child  among  them, 

And  enjoy  their  freaks  and  fun. 

Quick,  impulsive,  and  confiding, 

Innocent  without  disguise, 
Faces  all  aglow  with  pleasure, 

Mischief  dancing  in  their  eyes — 
In  my  garden  of  affection 

They  will  share  the  greenest  spot ; 
And  I  say  without  compunction, 

Woe  to  those  who  love  them  not ! 

They  are  buds  of  hope  and  promise, 

Blessed  by  Him  whose  name  is  Love ; 
Lent  us  here  to  train  and  nourish 

For  a  better  life  above  ; 
Tender  plants  by  angels  guarded, 

Clinging  vines  the  children  are  ; 
Jewels  in  our  hearts  to  glisten, 

Precious  treasures,  O  how  fair ! 


80  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Parents,  on  your  own  example 

That  your  children  daily  see, 
On  your  patient,  careful  training, 

Rests  their  future  destiny  ; 
Though  responsible  for  service, 

God  will  surely  bring  you  through  ; 
Go  to  Him  for  strength  and  guidance  ; 

He  is  wiser  far  than  you. 

Are  your  children  sometimes  wayward  ? 

Teachers,  are  your  scholars  wild  ? 
Do  not  blame  them,  but  remember 

Each  of  you  was  once  a  child  ; 
Learn  to  govern  with  discretion, 

Govern  with  a  loving  hand  ; 
Ne'er  correct  them  in  your  anger, 

Learn  with  mildness  to  command. 

Do  not  crush  their  tender  feelings  ; 

Win  their  confidence,  their  trust ; 
Treat  them  kindly,  and  be  always 

Merciful  as  well  as  just ; 
Pastors,  don't  forget  the  children ; 

They  are  looking  up  to  you  ; 
By  a  word  of  admonition, 

There  is  much  that  you  can  do. 

O  how  many  are  neglected  ! 

And  your  sympathy  they  claim  ; 
Wretchedness  their  sole  companion, 

Home  to  them  is  but  a  name  ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  81 

Seek  them  out,  and,  when  you  find  them, 
Show  their  feet  the  narrow  way  ; 

Feed  their  souls  and  clothe  their  bodies  ; 
All  you  give  the  Lord  will  pay. 

Love  the  children  ?     I  can  never, 

Never  pass  them  in  the  street 
But  my  every  pulse  awaking 

Thrills  with  love  to  all  I  meet ; 
I  have  heard  the  children  singing 

When  my  heart  was  lone  and  sad  ; 
I  have  heard  them  in  the  distance, 

And  their  music  made  me  glad. 
But  their  voices  cheer  and  charm  me 

In  the  Sabbath  homes  they  love ; 
And  I  think  they  will  be  sweetest 

In  the  saintly  choirs  above. 


TWILIGHT. 

O  TWILIGHT  !  ever  welcome  hour, 
That  by  a  strange,  mysterious  power 
Brings  back  the  past,  and  bids  me  feel 
Its  happy  sunshine  o'er  me  steal, 
Till  all  the  buds  and  blossoms  fair 
That  memory's  garland  used  to  bear 
Are  fresh  and  blooming  as  they  seemed 
When  first  my  heart  of  friendship  dreamed. 

O  twilight !  let  me  dream  once  more, 
Dream  all  my  early  pleasures  o'er, 


82  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  give  me,  just  a  little  while, 

The  earnest  clasp,  the  heart-warm  smile, 

Of  those  whose  dust  I  hallow  yet, 

Of  those  too  sacred  to  forget. 


CONFIDENCE. 

THE  trust  another  hath  reposed  in  thee 

Is  sacred  as  thy  life,  whate'er  it  be ; 

And  in  the  promise  which  thy  lips  have  given, 

If  thou  shall  fail,  thou  wilt  be  judged  of  Heaven. 

Betray  it  not,  nor  to  thy  interest  use 

What  thou  hast  heard,  nor  confidence  abuse  ; 

However  trivial,  by  a  look  or  tone 

Betray  it  not ;  'twas  for  thine  ear  alone  ; 

Forget  or  hide  it  in  thy  inmost  heart ; 

Do  anything  but  act  the  cruel  part 

To  wrong  thy  friend,  who,  seeking  thy  relief, 

Has  come,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  grief 

Would  pillow  on  thy  breast  an  aching  brow, 

And  whisper  all,  yea,  e'en  the  broken  vow 

Of  recreant  love,  young  hope  forever  crushed, 

Its  lamp  gone  out,  its  tender  music  hushed. 

What !  canst  thou  listen  and  a  traitor  be, 

Revealing  what  hath  been  revealed  to  thee 

In  strictest  faith  ?     Then  thou  art  not  sincere, 

And  all  to  trust  and  counsel  thee  should  fear. 

It  was  a  secret  in  a  cloister  told, 

And  should  be  guarded  like  a  purse  of  gold, 


SECULAR  POEMS.  83 

Not  thine,  but  in  thy  keeping,  and  no  right 

Hast  thou  to  ope  or  bring  it  to  the  light, 

Nor  take  one  coin,  though  hundreds  thou  shouldst 

gain ; 

As  thou  receivest  it  let  it  still  remain. 
So  guard  thy  trust,  and  in  thy  heart's  deep  cell, 
Untold,  unheard,  let  every  secret  dwell. 
There  be  the  urn  where  others'  tears  may  fall, 
And  love  keep  faithful  vigil  o'er  them  all, 
And  thou  shall  live  a  comfort  in  thy  day, 
And  scatter  flowers  o'er  many  a  thorny  way. 


A  SONG. 

0  COME,  if  thou  art  true  to  me, 
If  yet  thou  lov'st  me  well, 

And  meet  me  at  our  trysting  place 

Within  the  mossy  dell ; 
Yes,  meet  me  as  when  first  we  met 

Beneath  a  summer  sky, 
Long,  long  before  our  lips  had  learned 

That  cruel  word,  good-bye. 

There's  not  a  rose  on  yonder  bush, 
Nor  flower  we  used  to  twine  ; 

The  birds  have  left  that  rural  spot ; 
Perhaps  the  fault  is  mine  ; 

1  know  my  looks  were  cold  and  stern, 

A  frown  was  on  my  brow ; 


84  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

But  I  regret  that  fatal  hour ; 
Wilt  thou  forgive  me  now  ? 

O  come,  and  let  us  plight  once  more 

The  faith  of  other  years, 
And  bathe  each  link  of  sacred  love 

In  sweet  repentant  tears ; 
Yet  not  one  shadow  would  I  cast 

Around  thy  peerless  name ; 
Mine,  mine  the  wrong ;  I'll  bear  it  all, 

And  I  deserve  the  blame. 


SEEKING  FOR  VIOLETS. 

ROAMING  all  day  in  the  meadow  so  green, 

Seeking  for  violets,  art  thou,  my  queen  ? 

Where  have  you  hid  them  ?     Down  deep  in  your 

heart  ? 

Why  are  you  blushing  ?     And  why  do  you  start  ? 
Seeking  for  violets  ?     When  do  they  grow  ? 
Think  you  to  find  them  in  summer?     No,  no; 
Not  such  a  thought  ever  entered  your  head, 
Nor  is  there  a  truth  in  a  word  you  have  said. 

Seeking  for  violets  ?  happy  excuse 
Thus  to  avoid  me ;  and  yet,  'tis  no  use ; 
Cupid,  I  fancy,  has  lent  to  these  hours 
Something   more    pleasant    than   searching    for 
flowers ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  85 

What  is  that  something,  you  shy  little  fay  ? 
Naught  in  your  looks  will  the  secret  betray: 
Ah,  but  you  wish  me,  and  that  I  can  trace 
Plainly  enough  in  each  line  of  your  face, 
Out  on  the  ocean,  or  some  other  place. 

Merry  your  laugh  as  a  clear  ringing  bell ; 
Laugh  with  the  lightest ;  'tis  all  very  well ; 
Only  be  candid,  for  I  should  regret 
If  I  should  find  you  a  heartless  coquet ; 
Is  there  another  more  favored  than  I  ? 
One  who  is  dearer?     Then  why  not  reply? 
If  your  affections  have  wandered  away, 
Not  for  the  world  would  I  ask  you  to  stay. 

No,  it  were  better  to  part  with  you  here 
Seeking  for  violets  all  the  long  year  ; 
Better  to  bless  you,  and  leave  you  alone 
Seeking  for  violets  withered  and  strown  ; 
What  do  you  ask  as  you  whisper  my  name  ? 
Will  I  forgive  and  receive  you  again  ? 
Love  you  as  fondly  and  true  as  of  yore  ? 
Yes,  and  more  fondly  than  ever  before. 

If  in  the  future  you  promise  to  be 
Loving  and  constant  and  faithful  to  me, 
Then  I  will  bury  this  scene  with  the  past ; 
Over  its  memory  a  veil  will  I  cast. 
Seeking  for  violets  ? — daisies,  I  mean ; 
Here  are  the  fairest  that  ever  were  seen ; 


86  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Take  the  sweet  nosegay  ;  'twas  gathered  for  you  ; 
Come,  I  will  show  you  the  spot  where  they  grew, 
Down  where  I  met  you  one  morn  in  the  lane ; 
Say,  were  you  seeking  for  violets  then  ? 


TO  BESSIE. 

WHAT  disturbed  thee,  pretty  one, 
Woke  thee  e'er  thy  dream  was  done  ? 
Did  some  quick  and  sudden  start 
Rouse  the  pulses  of  thy  heart  ? 
Hush  thee,  darling,  sleep  once  more, 
Dream  the  happy  vision  o'er ; 
Dream  as  only  dreams  can  be 
In  thy  guileless  infancy. 

There  are  lakes  that  murmur  low 

'  Neath  the  calm  cerulean  skies, 
Where  the  sweetest  lilies  grow, 

Where  their  beauty  never  dies ; 
Odors  from  their  leaves  so  fair 

Come  across  the  jasper  sea ; 
Balm  and  music  fill  the  air, 

Felt  and  heard  alone  by  thee. 

Angel  forms,  to  whom  'tis  given 
To  behold  our  Father's  face, 

And  perform  his  will  in  heaven, 
Round  thy  cradle  have  their  place ; 


SECULAR  POEMS.  87 

'Tis  their  pinions  fan  thy  brow; 
Hush  thee,  darling,  slumber  now ; 
Sleep  as  only  sleep  can  be 
In  thy  guileless  infancy. 

Thou  art  smiling,  pretty  one ; 
Ah,  'tis  well ;  thy  dream  is  done ; 
Did  thy  spirit  leave  its  home 
For  a  little  while  to  roam 
Where  the  chime  of  Eden's  bells 
On  the  breeze  forever  swells  ? 
Did'st  thou  catch  some  thrilling  air 
From  the  children  singing  there? 

Thou  art  smiling,  pretty  one  ; 
Yes,  thy  halcyon  dream  is  done  ; 
Other  thoughts  thy  mind  employ, 
Other  scenes  of  mirth  and  joy 
Call  thee  now  from  sleep  away ; 
Just  begun  thy  life's  young  day ; 
Bright  as  days  can  only  be 
In  thy  guileless  infancy. 

Darling  Bessie,  He  whose  eye 
Numbers  all  the  stars  on  high, 
Counts  the  waves  upon  the  sea, 
Watcheth  o'er  and  loveth  thee  ; 
And  amid  this  world  of  ours 
Thou  wilt  gather  buds  and  flowers, 
Sweet  as  flowers  can  only  be 
In  thy  guileless  infancy. 


88  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

When  from  childhood  thou  art  grown, 
When  thine  artless  years  have  flown, 
May  the  prayer  once  learned  by  thee 
Kneeling  at  a  mother's  knee, 
And  the  words  thy  father  said 
When  he  laid  thy  infant  head 
On  his  breast  with  fondest  love, 
Lead  thy  soul  to  things  above. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 


TRIAL  OF  THE  FAITH  OF  ABRAHAM. 

'TWAS  past  the  hour  for  sacrifice  ;  and  now 
The  aged  patriarch,  leaning  on  his  staff, 
Stood  in  the  doorway  of  his  tent,  and  watched 
The  gayly  painted  clouds  which  here  and  there 
Were  floating  in  the  quiet  evening  sky, 
In  strange  fantastic  forms,  till,  brushed  away 
By  the  light  breath  of  the  cool  zephyr's  wing, 
They  melted  into  air,  and  left  the  moon 
Sole  monarch  of  a  train  of  radiant  stars, 
The  bright  attendants  of  her  mighty  reign. 
And  forth  in  brilliant  majesty  she  came, 
Touched  with  her  silvery  wand  the  tiny  flowers, 
And  bade  them  fold  their  leaves,  and  lay  their 

heads 
Upon  the  bosom  of  their  mother  earth. 

His  boy  came  bounding  quickly  to  his  side, 
Like  a  young  fawn,  and  caught  his  father's  hand, 
And  drew  him  down,  and  kissed  his  furrowed 

cheek — 

His  boy,  his  darling,  shall  we  say  his  pride, 
Of  whom  the  King  of  all  the  world  had  said 
In  him  and  in  his  seed,  in  after  years, 


90  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Shall  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  be  blessed. 
And  as  the  old  man  held  him  to  his  heart, 
And  looked  into  the  depth  of  his  dark  eyes, 
That  seemed  so  like  his  mother's  in  her  youth, 
His  thoughts  went  backward  to  the  long  ago, 
When,  in  his  native  country  far  away, 
He  wooed  the  maiden  who  became  his  wife. 
And  Sarah  loved  him  yet ;  the  lapse  of  years 
Had  strengthened  and  renewed  her  early  vows. 
They  err  who  tell  us  love  is  all  a  dream, 
And  warn  the  young  to  fly  its  dangerous  power  ; 
'Tis  not  a  dream ;  but,  constant,  true,  sublime, 
Where  once  its  germ  is  planted  in  the  soul, 
Twill,  like  the  evergreen,  bloom  on  and  on ; 
For  love  is  born  of  heaven,  and  cannot  die. 

"  Isaac,  my  son,"  the  doting  father  said, 

"  Long  since  thy  mother  to  her  couch  hath  gone, 

And  thou,  methinks,  hast  quite  o'erstepped  thy 

bounds. 
Not  thine  the  fault,  but  mine ;   and  now,  good 

night." 

How  beautiful  he  was  !  how  graceful  he 
In  every  movement  as  he  tripped  away ! 
His  merry  laugh  rang  out  so  cheerily, 
The  birds  awoke  and  started  from  their  nests 
As  if  they  feared  a  rival  in  their  song. 
Still  Abraham  mused  on  the  ways  of  God  ; 
He  could  not  solve,  nor  was  it  his  to  know, 
Almighty  wisdom,  but  to  trust  and  live, 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  91 

As  he  had  done,  by  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

The  Lord  had  promised  that  from  him  should 

spring 

A  mighty  nation,  numerous  as  the  stars, 
And  numberless  as  sands  upon  the  shore, 
And  that  the  goodly  land  in  which  he  dwelt 
They  should  possess  ;  the  promise  he  believed 
Implicitly ;  he  knew  'twould  come  to  pass, 
For  unto  him  the  word  of  God  was  law. 

And  now  he  slept ;  and  in  a  vision  came 

A  voice  that  called  him.     "  Abraham,"  it  said, 

"  Take  now  thine  only  son  whom  thou  dost  love, 

The  idol  of  thy  heart,  and  offer  him 

As  a  burnt  offering  in  Moriah's  land, 

Upon  a  mountain  I  will  tell  thee  of." 

Did  love  rebel  ?     Did  faith  refuse  to  yield 

In  this  sore  trial,  most  severe  of  all, 

Obedience  to  its  author  and  its  God  ? 

Did  Abraham  question  His  supreme  command, 

Who  has  the  right  to  govern  as  He  will  ? 

Morn  oped  her  golden  eye,  tinged  with  her  blush 
The  eastern  hills,  and  sent  her  dewy  smile 
O'er  groves  of  cedar,  and  the  lovely  vales 
Bathed  in  her  light  and  sang  aloud  for  joy. 
The  patriarch  rose  ;  a  secret  on  his  mind, 
Which  e'en  to  Sarah  he  might  not  betray ; 
He  had  received  a  message  from  the  Lord, 
And  he  must  go ;  he  dared  not  tell  her  more  ; 


92  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Then  with  the  lad,  and  with  his  two  young  men 
As  their  attendants,  Abraham  left  his  home. 
For  two  long  days  they  journeyed,  and  the  third 
He  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  saw  the  place ; 
Bade  his  young  men  abide  and  wait  him  there ; 
He  and  the  lad  would  yonder  go,  he  said, 
And  worship,  and  return  to  them  again. 
Silent  their  walk,  till  Isaac  wondering  cried, 
"  Behold    the    wood    and    fire,    but  where  the 

lamb  ?  " 

To  whom  the  father  answered,  "  All  is  well, 
My  son  ;  God  will  provide  Himself  a  lamb." 
And  so  together  to  the  mount  they  came  ; 
And  Abraham  built  an  altar  to  the  Lord. 
And  when  the  boy  looked  on  with  sudden  fear, 
And  turned  those  mournful,  pleading  eyes  to  his, 
He  waited  but  to  clasp  him  to  his  breast ; 
Then  firmly  bound  with  cords  those  tender  limbs, 
And  on  the  altar  laid  the  sacrifice. 
O  what  a  moment !     Will  he  stand  the  test  ? 
Behold  the  knife ;  its  edge  is  keen  and  sure  ; 
See  how  it  glitters  as  the  sunlight  falls  ; 
His  arm  is  raised  ;  but,  ere  the  blade  descends, 
His  hand  is  stayed  ;  God  calls  him  out  of  heaven  : 
"  Touch  not  the  lad  ;  forbear  to  do  him  harm  ; 
For  now  indeed  I  know  thou  lovest  me, 
Since  thou  hast  not  withheld  thine  only  son, 
But  wouldst  have  offered  him  at  my  command." 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  93 

THE  MEETING  OF  JACOB  AND  JOSEPH. 

ALL  Egypt's  land  was  parched,  the  scorching 

beams 

Fell  with  relentless  heat  upon  the  soil, 
And  every  herb  was  withered,  and  the  leaves 
Dropped  from  the  boughs  that  could  no  longer  hold 
Their  blighted  forms,  and  sighing,  let  them  go; 
The  breeze  that  from  the^vaters  of  the  Nile 
Played  with  the  reeds  that  grew  along  its  banks 
Was  listless  now,  and  nature  groaning  saw 
On  every  plant  and  every  blade  of  grass 
Dearth  written,  for  the  famine  yet  was  sore. 
What  stirred  the  heart  of  Egypt's  governor  ? 
Had  that  illumination  of  the  soul, 
That  gift  of  faith,  which  God  alone  transmits, 
Confirmed  the  startling  truth  so  oft  revealed, 
That  he  who  most  a  doting  father  loved, 
And  whom  his  envious  brethren  hated  most, 
He  whom  they  sold  and  dipped  his  coat  in  blood, 
And  scrupled  not  to  wring  their  parent's  heart 
With  the  dark  falsehood  of  his  Joseph's  death, 
That  he.  the  victim  of  malicious  wrong, 
The  injured  tenant  of  a  prison  cell, 
Wasting  his  years  in  solitude  and  grief, 
Then  from  a  dungeon   brought,  and  clothed  in 

power 

Till  next  to  Egypt's  potentate  he  stood, 
Was  working  out  the  grand  design  of  Heaven — 
Was  thither  sent  by  agency  divine 


94  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

To  guard  a  mighty  nation's  destiny  ? 
All  this  and  more  had  moved  him  ;  he  had  seen 
His  brethren  ;  they  had  come  to  purchase  food  ; 
For  Juda's  fields  were  wasted  by  the  scourge 
Of  that  dread  famine,  and  her  fruitless  vales 
No  more  were  lovely  ;  all  her  groves  of  palm 
Bent  their  proud  heads  if  haply  they  might  catch 
One  cooling  drop  from  the  capricious  clouds 
That  mocked  their  thirst  and  vanished  like  the  dew. 
And  Jacob's  sons  arose ;  for  he  had  said, 
"Why  look  ye  on  each  other?  I  have  heard 
That  there  is  corn  in  Egypt ;  get  ye  down, 
And  buy  for  us,  our  wives  and  little  ones, 
That  thus  we  may  survive  and  perish  not ; 
Go,  all  of  you  but  one  ;  him  I  retain, 
The  youngest  born,  left  motherless  at  birth  ; 
My  fair-haired  Benjamin  shall  not  go  forth, 
Lest,  like  his  brother,  he  return  no  more, 
And  ye  who  robbed  me  of  the  son  I  loved 
Again  bereave  me,  and  your  second  wound 
Bring  my  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

Before  the  imperious  ruler,  proudly  stern, 
Whose  quick  perception  noted  every  face, 
They  stood  appalled,  and  bowed  them  to  the  earth  ; 
Yea,  bowed  themselves  as  in  his  boyhood  dreams 
He  saw  their  sheaves  obeisance  make  to  his. 
Rude  were  his  words,  denouncing  them  as  spies  ; 
And  then,  in  softer  tone  and  milder  mood, 
He  questioned  of  their  parentage  and  home ; 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  95 

They  knew  him  not,  nor  guessed  by  whose  com- 
mand 

Their  sacks  were  laden  and  their  gold  replaced. 
Twice  had  they  come ;  but  now  his  eyes  beheld 
His  brother  Benjamin,  his  mother's  son, 
The  child  he  once  had  dandled  on  his  knee, 
And  every  sleeping  passion  of  his  soul 
Roused  in  a  moment,  and  his  every  nerve, 
Strained  to  its  utmost  tension,  would  have  burst 
But  for  the  tears  that  he  made  haste  to  shed. 
O  Time,  whose  finger  doth  erase  the  bloom 
From  beauty's  cheek,  and  with  thy  winter  frost 
Sprinkle  the  locks  of  manhood  till  their  hue 
Is  changed  to  whiteness,  and  the  eye  grows  dim, 
And  the  sweet  sounds  of  merriment  and  joy 
Are  heard  but  as  the  echoes  of  the  past — 
Thank  God  !  there  yet  is  left  untouched  by  thee 
One  little  spot,  one  shrine  where  feeling  dwells, 
Immortal  feeling,  whose  Promethean  spark 
An  infant's  breath  might  kindle  to  a  flame. 

But  see  !  at  Jacob's  tent  the  panting  steeds 
That  bring  his  sons,  returned,  and  with  good  news; 
Who  shall  be  first  to  break  it  ?  can  their  sire 
Bear  the  recital  ?    Judah,  go  thou  first ; 
Thy  plea,  so  masterly,  hath  done  it  all ; 
Take  Benjamin,  to  whom  no  harm  has  come, 
And  tell  thy  father  Joseph  is  alive ; 
Tell  him — but  stay,  be  guarded  of  thy  speech, 
Lest,  if  the  heart  too  suddenly  be  filled 


96  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

With  unexpected  joy,  its  cords  may  break. 
The  old  man  heard  as  if  believing  not, 
Till  One  who  stood  upon  the  topmost  round 
Of  that  great  ladder  reaching  up  to  heaven, 
That  he  beheld  at  Bethel  while  he  slept, 
Breathed  on  his  soul,  and  all  its  strength  revived, 
And  in  the  fullness  of  his  heart  he  cried, 
"  Joseph,  my  son  Joseph,  is  yet  alive  ; 
I  will  go  down  and  see  him  ere  I  die." 

The  Nile  flowed  sluggishly,  not  as  of  yore 
When  the  glad  waves  caught  the  delicious  breath 
Of  fragrant  winds  that  floated  o'er  the  tide, 
And  busy  laborers  reaped  their  harvest  grain  ; 
All  wore  the  gloom  of  desolation  now, 
And  five  long  years  of  famine  yet  remained. 
The  day  was  sultry  with  its  first  gray  dawn ; 
Israel  awoke,  for  they  had  stopped  at  night, 
And  laid  them  down  to  rest  upon  the  plains. 
And  now  once  more  the  caravan  moved  on  ; 
And  as  the  shadow  of  the  sun  at  noon 
Fell  on  the  dial,  they  neared  the  journey's  end. 
Who  in  his  chariot  doth  so  swiftly  ride  ? 
And  now  he  reins  his  coursers,  now  alights, 
Looks  round  him  with  a  fond,  expectant  gaze, 
And  steps  aside  for  one  short  interval 
To  calm  his  thoughts  and  still  his  heart 's  wild  throb; 
Yonder  his  father  comes  ;  O  Heaven  !  'tis  he  .' 
That  waving  beard  white  as  the  driven  snow, 
Unshorn  as  when  with  soft,  caressing  hand 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  97 

He  stroked  it,  and  went  forth,  nor  came  again 

To  bear  the  tidings  he  was  sent  to  glean — 

Let  the  famed  artist  on  his  canvas  draw 

That  matchless  scene  and  paint  it  to  the  world ; 

And  thou,  O  bard,  if  words  thou  canst  command, 

Speak  with  impassioned  eloquence,  and  tell 

The  hope,  the  joy,  the  ecstasy,  that  crowned 

A  meeting  which  no  parallel  can  trace, 

A  meeting  that  dispelled  a  cloud  of  years, 

And  for  a  single  moment  lent  to  both 

A  vision  of  the  heavenly  Paradise. 

See  how  he  weeps  upon  his  father's  neck, 

And  how  that  father  clasps  him  to  his  heart 

As  if  he  feared  that  he  again  might  lose 

The  treasure  he  believed  the  grave  had  won  ; 

O  that  was  pathos  ;  that  undying  love 

Who  can  recall,  or  from  the  inspired  page, 

God's  sacred  word,  can  read  that  brief  account, 

So  touching  and  so  sweetly  beautiful, 

Nor  feel  one  tender  yearning  of  the  soul 

To  reach  for  something  purer  than  is  found 

Among  the  gewgaws  of  a  flattering  world  ? 

Before  the  king  was  Joseph's  father  brought, 
King  Pharaoh,  who  rejoiced  and  gave  him  cheer, 
And,  sitting  down  beside  him,  many  things 
Did  he  relate  of  Joseph's  bright  career, 
And  how  the  land  of  Egypt  he  had  saved 
By  wisdom  not  his  own  but  of  the  Lord ; 
And  then  of  Jacob  asked,  "  How  old  art  thou?  " 
7 


98  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

To  whom  the  noble  patriarch  replied, 

"  The  days  that  mark  my  life  of  pilgrimage, 

Evil  and  few  as  they  indeed  have  been, 

Nor  have  they  to  my  fathers  yet  attained, 

A  hundred  years  and  thirty  number  now  ;  " 

And  Pharaoh  blessed  him,  and  a  promise  gave 

Of  an  inheritance,  a  goodly  place 

That  he  and  his  might  ever  call  their  own, 

To  dwell  therein,  and  rear  their  flocks  and  herds. 

And  Joseph  bade  his  brethren  be  content, 

For  all  was  past,  and  all  had  been  forgiven ; 

And  so  he  dwelt  with  them  for  many  years, 

Nourished  his  father  till  his  latest  hour, 

And  saw  him  laid  within  Machpelah's  tomb. 


SAMSON  WITH  THE  PHILISTINES. 

"  Down  with  the  Hebrew  ! "     From  the  infuriate 

crowds 

That  like  a  whirlwind  madly  urged  their  way 
Through  Gaza's  streets,  a  deafening  shout  arose ; 
"  Down  with  the  Hebrew,  Samson  !  he  is  cursed  ; 
Dagon,  our  God,  hath  cursed  him  and  his  race." 
"  Hold  !"  cried  a  voice  in  loud,  imperious  tones, 
"  Hold  !  I  command  you  let  this  tumult  cease 
Till  I,  your  chief,  Altharius,  bid  you  speak  ; 
Then  glut  your  vengeance  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent; 

Revile,  insult,  mock  your  defenseless  foe, 
Till  he  shall  learn  how  sweet  it  is  to  feel 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  99 

The  poisoned  arrow  of  remorseless  hate. 

Behold  the  lion  tamed  and  like  a  lamb  ; 

No  need  of  bonds  but  to  prevent  all  harm 

Against  himself ;  I  have  secured  him  thus, 

For  from  their  sockets  must  his  eyes  be  torn, 

Lest  peradventure  other  foxes  come 

With  brands  of  fire  and  burn  our  harvest  fields. 

He  like  a  pestilence  hath  scourged  our  land, 

Laid  waste  our  cities,  robbed  us  of  our  homes, 

And  slain  his  thousands  in  a  single  day  ; 

But  where  his  prowess  now?     Where  did  it  lie? 

Fool  to  unlock  a  secret  he  had  kept 

Through  all  his  life,  and  might  have  kept  it  still ! 

Fool  to  confide  in  her  who,  false  as  fair, 

Sought  only  to  betray  his  trust  for  gold  ! 

But  she  had  served  our  purpose,  and  'tis  well ; 

She  was  the  fowler ;  we  the  prey  have  won, 

Not,  like  the  hungry  vulture,  to  devour, 

But  save  alive  ;  death  were  a  boon  too  great 

For  him  to  ask  at  a  Philistine's  hand  ; 

But  let  him,  like  the  eagle  from  the  sun 

Hurled  by  a  shaft  that  wounds  no  vital  part, 

Beat  his  proud  wings  against  his  prison  bars, 

Till  hope's  last  beam  expires  and  all  is  dark. 

Now  to  my  task  ;  such  mercy  will  I  show 

As  hath  been  shown  by  him  to  me  and  mine. 

Ah,  how  he  struggles  !  but  he  must  not  faint ; 

Quick  !  bathe  his  temples,  bring  him  goodly  wine, 

Choice  wine  from  Kisma,  cooled  in  Caspian  snow ; 

He  shall  not  faint ;  far  greater  our  revenge 


100  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

To  see  him  tortured  to  his  utmost  power, 

Yet,  nerved  by  stimulants  and  conscious  still, 

To  see  him  writhe,  half  frantic  with  his  pain, 

Then  laugh  his  misery  to  bitter  scorn. 

O  say,  what  is  it  that  doth  o'er  me  creep, 

So  like  a  venom  coiling  in  my  veins  ? 

Have  I  not  from  my  boyhood  looked  on  blood  ? 

Was  I  not  cradled  in  the  arms  of  war? 

But  this — ah  me !  not  that  I  pity  him, 

But  'tis  a  deed  at  which  my  soul  revolts ; 

Would  it  were  past ;  but  half  is  yet  to  do ; 

Would  it  were  past ;  but  shall  I  falter?  No ; 

I'll  finish,  though  my  hands  were  paralyzed. 

There,  I  have  done ;  and  shall  I  more  inflict  ? 

For  I  am  sated,  sickened,  horrified 

With  this  dread  scene.     Stand  back  and  let  me 

forth ; 

Nay,  touch  him  not ;  are  ye  men  or  fiends  ? 
Guards,  bear  him  hence  ;  and  if  perchance  there 

come 

A  pitying  friend,  or  one  of  nearer  kin, 
Ye  shall  not  hinder  such,  but  let  them  pass 
And,  as  they  will,  relieve  and  succor  him." 

The  crowd   had  gone ;    their   hateful,  mocking 

sounds 

Of  rude  and  impious  mirth  were  heard  no  more, 
And,  save  the  measured  tramp  along  the  court 
Of  sentinels  whose  dull  monotony 
Broke  ever  and  anon  upon  the  ear, 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  101 

'Twas  still.     O  what  a  boon  from  Israel's  God, 
E'en  this  to  that  poor,  lonely,  suffering  one, 
Who,  faint,  exhausted  by  the  sudden  shock 
Of    twofold   anguish,  prayed   that   death   might 

come, 

Kind,  gentle  death,  and  let  his  spirit  forth 
Into  the  region  of  the  vast  unknown  ! 
Tossing  he  lay  ;  none  came  to  slake  his  thirst ; 
His  quivering  eyelids  burned  and  throbbed  with 

pain 

Till  reason  sometimes  trembled  on  its  throne  ; 
And  she  whose  hand  had  shorn  his  wavy  locks, 
And  wove  the  network  of  deceit  and  guile 
In  whose  dark  meshes  he  was  caught  at  last — 
Where   was   she   then?     O   when   with   victory 

crowned 

He  sought  his  home,  rich  with  the  spoils  of  war, 
Or  in  the  twilight's  gloaming  thither  came, 
How  was  he  wont  with  lighter  step  to  move, 
And  heart  more  buoyant,  while  her  siren  voice 
Poured  out  its  music,  and  his  soul  drank  in 
Its  every  tone  as  some  delicious  draught 
Too  pure  for  earth  and  only  made  for  heaven  ! 
Where  was  she  then,  whose  lightest  touch  could 

soothe 

His  restless  moanings,  and  whose  softest  word 
Could  lull  him  to  a  sweet  forgetfulness  ? 

Delilah,  false  Delilah,  what !  asleep? 
Beneath  the  silken  folds  of  thine  own  couch 


102  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Canst  thou  repose  ?  dost  think  the  dove  would  rest 
If  aught  of  danger  brooded  o'er  her  mate  ? 
Or,  robbed  of  him,  would  she  not  pine  and  die? 
She  hath  what  thou  hast  not — a  changeless  love  ; 
Thou  didst  not  love,  else  thou  hadst  loyal  been  ; 
Was  not  thy  husband's  fate  in  thine  own  hands  ? 
Not  his,  but  thine,  the  falsehood  that  must  be 
A  skeleton  through  all  thy  after  years. 
Thou  didst  not  love,  else  thou  hadst  never  played 
The  craven  part  and  bartered  love  for  gold  ; 
Love  hides  its  secret  with  a  miser's  care  ; 
It  wounds  to  heal,  but  never  to  betray. 

And  now  awoke  the  morn ;  the  playful  winds 
Were  toying  with  the  leaves  and  jessamine  stems, 
Curling  the  wavelets  on  the  limpid  streams, 
Or  stealing  nectar  from  the  dewy  cups 
Of  the  young  virgin  lilies  as  they  passed. 
Time,  and  the  hand  that  lifteth  from  the  ground 
The  trembling  sparrow  fallen  from  its  bough, 
The  balm  of  health  to  Samson  had  restored  ; 
Long  days  had  intervened,  and  weary  nights, 
Not  lonely  like  the  first,  for  friends  were  there  ; 
And  tottering  age,  that  nursed  him  when  a  babe, 
Its  tender,  sympathizing  tears  had  shed 
So  lovingly  upon  his  wasted  cheek, 
That  half  his  burden  seemed  already  gone  ; 
And  waking  from  his  sleep  on  that  sweet  morn, 
He  rose,  and  leaning  on  a  soldier's  arm, 
Stood  in  the  outer  court  where  he  was  led. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  103 

His  hair  had  grown  ;  he  knew  it ;  but,  his  eyes — 

Would  they  return  ?  would  he  again  behold 

Or  sun  or  moon  or  stars  or  human  face  ? 

O  Heaven  !  in  all  our  catalogue  of  woes 

Can  there  be  one  that  so  afflicts  the  mind 

And  rends  the  very  fibers  of  the  heart, 

Like  that  which  comes  when  in  our  riper  years 

We  lose,  and  by  a  single  stroke  of  Thine, 

That  sense  which  of  all  others  most  we  prize, 

That  glorious  avenue  through  which  we  range 

The  fields  of  science,  poesy,  and  art, 

And  trace  Thee  in  Thy  excellence  divine 

Where  Thou  hast  left  Thy  name  in  living  light 

On  truth's  immortal  page,  Thy  Holy  Book? 

O  to  be  left  at  midday  in  the  dark  ! 

To  wander  on  and  on  in  moonless  night ! 

To  know  the  windows  of  the  soul  are  closed, 

And  closed  till  opened  in  eternity ! 

They  who  have  felt  can  tell  how  deep  the  gloom  ; 

And  only  they  who  in  their  souls  have  learned 

To  walk  by  faith,  and  lean  on  God  for  help, 

To  such  a  lot  can  e'er  be  reconciled. 

The  chief,  Ahharius,  had  a  feast  proclaimed, 

A  royal  feast  to  Dagon  on  that  day, 

In  honor  of  his  signal  victory 

In  Samson's  capture.     Gaza's  streets  again 

Were  vocal  with  the  shouts  of  revelry ; 

Upon  the  housetop  where  the  feast  was  held, 

Philistia's  sons  were  gathered  ;  young  and  old, 


104  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

In  motley  groups,  were  walking  to  and  fro, 
Whiling  the  hours  in  thoughtless  merriment. 
Loud  peals  of  laughter  rose,  and  then  a  call 
That  Samson  should  be  brought  to  make  them 

sport ; 

The  message  came,  he  heard,  and  bowed  his  head, 
Then,  with  a  look  of  triumph  in  his  face, 
Was  borne  to  where  that  reckless  multitude 
Deemed  his  affliction  but  an  idle  jest ; 
Scoffed  at,  he  came,  and  then,  with  cruel  taunt, 
Mocking,  they  bade  him  lead  them  in  the  dance. 
So  passed  the  time;  but  Samson's  hour  drew  near; 
He  leaned  against  the  pillars ;  all  his  hopes 
Were  clustering  around  a  single  thought; 
To  one  he  said,  "  Put  thou  my  hand  on  these, 
For  I  would  know  their  size ;  and  tell  thou  me, 
Are  these  the  pillars  where  the  building  rests  ?  " 
They  left  him  to  himself ;  he  stood  alone, 
And,  lifting  up  his  sightless  orbs,  he  said, 
"  O  Thou  who  didst  behold  me  at  my  birth, 
God  of  my  fathers,  hear  my  prayer  this  once  ; 
Lo,  I  am  stricken  down,  helpless  and  blind  ; 
Thy  mighty  works  are  hidden  from  me  now  ; 
The  smiling  meadow  and  the  vineclad  hill 
And  spicy  grove  are  now  as  things  that  were  ; 
I  joy  no  more  in  that  which  charmed  me  once ; 
Yet  I  have  tried  to  serve  Thee  all  my  life ; 
And  now,  O  Lord,  I  pray  Thee  let  my  strength 
Tenfold  return,  that,  in  this  last,  last  hour, 
I  of  mine  enemies  may  be  avenged 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  105 

For  this  great  wrong  which  they  to  me  have 

done; 

And  let  these  heathen,  who  believe  Thee  not, 
Know   for  themselves    this  day  that   Thou   art 

God." 

He  paused,  his  chest  expanded,  and  again 
Firmly  he  held  with  superhuman  power 
Those  massive  pillars  in  his  giant  grasp  ; 
A  shout — the  building  to  its  center  shook, 
And,  in  a  moment,  that  vast  multitude 
Mangled  and  crushed  beneath  its  ruins  lay, 
And  he  among  them  ;  thus  was  he  avenged  ; 
For  they,  'tis  said,  who  perished  at  his  death 
Were  more  than  all  that  in  his  life  he  slew. 


PRAYER. 

GOD  heareth  prayer, — whether  in  secret  place, 
Or  in  His  sacred  courts,  it  matters  not ; 
Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  in  His  Name, 
There  will  He  deign  to  meet  them  and  to  bless. 
God  heareth  prayer, — O  thou  desponding  one, 
When   dark  temptation's  cloud  o'erspreads  thy 

soul, 

Turn  from  the  busy  and  the  giddy  throng, 
Haste  thou  to  nature's  solitude,  commune 
With  thy  own  heart,  and  humbly  bend  thy  knee, 
For  in  that  hour  thy  God  will  hear  thy  prayer. 


106  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

IMMORTAL   LOVE. 

IMMORTAL  love !  O  theme  of  heavenly  birth  ! 
How  shall  I  dare  to  speak  thy  matchless  worth? 
Source  of  unending  life,  celestial  dove, 
Fountain  of  wisdom  who  thyself  art  love, 
Thee  I  invoke,  who  only  canst  inspire 
My  languid  soul,  and  tune  my  trembling  lyre. 
Immortal  love,  who  shall  thy  depths  explore, 
Vast  as  eternity's  unbounded  shore  ? 
Thou  art  the  spark  that  lights  th'  eternal  flame 
On  heaven's  high  altars  ;  thou  the  sacred  name 
That  fills  those  realms  no  mortal  e'er  has  trod ; 
Thou  the  pulsation  of  the  heart  of  God, 
Which,  to  the  Church,  His  body  here  below, 
Doth  now.throughChristourgreat  Redeemer,  flow. 
Immortal  love,  how  gentle  and  how  mild 
Appear  thy  workings  in  a  lisping  child  ! 
Confiding,  trusting,  innocent,  and  kind, 
Thou  art  the  first  pure  impulse  of  its  mind ; 
Thou  art  a  breath  from  that  untainted  clime 
Where  heavenly  choirs  their  ceaseless  anthems 

chime ; 

God's  law  to  man  in  thee  we  comprehend, 
Thou  its  beginning  art,  and  thou  its  end. 
The  noblest  of  the  Christian  virtues  thou, 
The  crown  of  grace  that  decks  the  Christian's 

brow, — 

Jehovah's  mighty  arm  that  doth  enfold 
A  universe  with  tenderness  untold. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  107 

Immortal  love,  O  theme  of  heavenly  birth, 

No    mortal    tongue   can    speak    thy   matchless 

worth ; 

To  ransomed  ones  such  lofty  strains  belong ; 
They,  only  they,  can  swell  th'  enraptured  song. 


HOPE  ON,   HOPE  EVER. 

HOPE  on,  hope  ever.     Earth  is  not  so  drear, 
Nor  life  a  comfortless  and  empty  dream  ; 

The  darkest  clouds  that  gather  o'er  us  here 
Are  not  the  harbingers  we  sometimes  deem; 

For  lo !  how  brilliant  the  returning  ray, 

As  one  by  one  their  shadows  pass  away  ! 

Hope  on,  hope  ever.     Is  thy  heart  bereft 
Of  all  that  rendered  life  once  dear  to  thee  ? 

Amid  the  wreck  the  quenchless  spark  is  left, 
Whose  light,  though  feeble,  shall  thy  beacon  be  ; 

Though  death's  cold  hand  some  kindred  tie  may 
sever, 

Still  let  thy  motto  be,  Hope  on,  hope  ever. 

Hope  on,  hope  ever.     Weary  and  oppressed, 
Care's  pallid  seal  stamped  on  thy  sunken  cheek, 

There  is  a  haven  of  eternal  rest 

Whose  sacred  joy  no  mortal  tongue  can  speak ; 

Look  upward  in  thine  hour  of  dark  despair — 
Hope  points  to  heaven,  and  drops  her  anchor 
there. 


108  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


REST. 

COME,  heavy  laden  one, 

Where'er  thou  art, 
Lay  at  the  Master's  feet 

Thy  broken  heart ; 
Cast  thou  on  Him  thy  care  ; 
Though  hard  thy  cross  to  bear, 
Jesus,  who  answers  prayer, 

Sweet  rest  will  give. 

Think  of  His  tender  love, 

Boundless  and  free ; 
Think  of  His  precious  words 

Spoken  to  thee ; 

What  though  thy  faith  be  small  ? 
What  though  thy  tears  may  fall  ? 
Jesus,  who  knows  them  all, 

Sweet  rest  will  give. 

Long  though  the  weary  night, 

Joy  will  be  thine  ; 
See  through  the  rifting  clouds 

Hope  brightly  shine  ; 
Rest  from  the  tide  of  woes, 
Rest  and  a  calm  repose, 
Rest  that  shall  never  close, 

Jesus  will  give. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  109 


NO  TEARS  IN  HEAVEN. 

WITH  careworn  heart  and  throbbing  brow 

I  watched  the  orb  of  day, 
That  set  in  tears  behind  the  clouds 

That  veiled  its  golden  ray  ; 
And  bending  o'er  the  sacred  page 

Of  truth  divinely  given, 
I  heard  a  loving  voice  that  said, 

There'll  be  no  tears  in  Heaven. 

My  thoughts  grew  calm,  and,  in  a  dream, 

Bright  angels  sang  to  me 
A  choral  song  of  Eden  land 

Beyond  the  jasper  sea ; 
And  though  too  soon  its  chords  were  lost, 

Its  tones  afar  were  driven ; 
One  hallowed  strain  I  yet  recall : 

There'll  be  no  tears  in  Heaven. 

No  tears,  no  pain,  no  dreary  night 

With  starless  gloom  o'ercast, 
The  joy  our  blessed  Saviour  gives 

Will  there  forever  last ; 
O  eyes  that  weep,  O  hearts  that  mourn, 

By  storm  and  tempest  driven, 
Look  up,  look  up ;  'twill  soon  be  o'er; 

There'll  be  no  tears  in  Heaven. 


110  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


RETROSPECT. 

ONLY  a  thought  concealed 

In  the  leaves  of  a  withered  flower, 
That  came  in  its  bloom  from  the  giver's  hand, 

And  drooped  in  a  single  hour ! 
Only  a  whispered  word, 

In  the  ear  of  a  trusting  heart ! 
But  its  memory  clung  to  the  trembling  strings, 

And  it  broke  them  all  apart. 

Only  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

'Twas  bright,  but  it  came  no  more ; 
Only  a  sigh,  and  a  sob  of  pain, 

A  parting — and  all  was  o'er ! 
Only  a  storm-tossed  barque, 

Alone  on  the  restless  deep ! 
Only  the  path  of  a  dreary  night, 

And  a  tireless  watch  to  keep  ! 

O  thought,  O  word,  O  dream, 

Sad  tales  of  the  past  ye  tell ; 
Your  lesson  of  life,  it  was  hard  to  learn, 

But  O  it  has  served  me  well ; 
What  matter  if  still  my  barque 

On  a  restless  sea  be  driven  ? 
Its  anchor  is  firm,  and  I  know  ere  long 

'Twill  rest  in  the  port  of  Heaven. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  Ill 

UNSEEN. 

THOU  great  Supreme,  whom  angel  choirs  adore, 
High  over  all  exalted  evermore, 
No  mortal  eye  hath  seen  at  any  time 
The  matchless  glory  of  Thy  throne  sublime  ; 
Yet  unto  us  Thou  dost  Thyself  reveal ; 
Within  our  souls  Thy  presence,  Lord,  we  feel, 
And  know  that  we  from  death  to  life  have  passed, 
That  with  Thy  chosen  ones  our  lot  is  cast. 

Unseen,  yet  when  in  prayer  we  breathe  Thy  name, 
Our  love  inspired  is  kindled  to  a  flame  ; 
Till,  upward  borne  on  eagle  wings,  we  soar 
Beyond  the  clouds  that  veil  the  eternal  shore. 
And  view  by  faith  Thy  regal  diadem, 
And  in  a  vision  touch  Thy  garment's  hem. 

Unseen,  Thou  lead'st  us  by  Thine  own  right  hand  ; 
Thus  saith  Thy  word,  upon  whose  truth  we  stand  ; 
And  still  again  we  hear  in  tones  divine, 
"  Fear  not ;  I  have  redeemed  you ;  ye  are  mine.' 

Unseen,  but  O  how  precious,  Lord,  Thou  art ! 
How  sweet  Thy  voice  to  every  trusting  heart ! 
We  praise  and  bless  Thee  for  the  promise  given 
Of  endless  joy  and  perfect  rest  in  Heaven, 
Where,  Thou  hast  said,  through  Thy  abundant 

grace, 
We  shall  in  righteousness  behold  Thy  face. 


112  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

OCEAN   GROVE. 

WE  stepped  upon  the  crowded  car 

That  rapidly  began  to  move, 
And  ere  we  thought  two  hours  had  passed, 

We  found  ourselves  at  Ocean  Grove ; 
And  there  we  parted,  said  Good-bye, 

My  new-made  friend  his  home  to  seek, 
And  I  their  honored  guest  to  be 

Whose  kindness  words  can  never  speak. 

The  camp  ground,  thronged  with  pious  souls, 

Was  from  their  home  not  far  away, 
Divided  by  a  fairy  lake — 

So  mirrorlike  and  still  it  lay 
That,  as  we  rowed,  and  softly  came 

In  measured  tones  the  dipping  oar, 
We  heard  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 

Among  the  pines  along  the  shore. 
O  who  could  breathe  the  fragrant  air 

Of  that  cool  lake,  or  lightly  rove 
Among  the  avenues  and  shades 

And  winding  paths  of  Ocean  Grove, 
Without  a  realistic  sense 

Of  holy  blessedness  that  flows 
When  over  nature  and  its  works 

Religion's  power  an  influence  throws  ? 

That  night — the  morrow — O  what  joy  ! 

The  very  hills  with  gladness  rang ; 
We  felt  that  we  had  almost  reached 

The  "  Beulah  Land  "  of  which  we  sang. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  113 

To  see  those  cottages  and  tents, 

Where  praise  ascended  to  the  sky, 
Was  bliss ;  ah,  more ;  'twas  heaven  below ; 

In  such  a  scene  how  sweet  to  die ! 
We  heard  the  Word  of  Life  proclaimed, 

We  heard  the  deep  and  fervent  prayer, 
We  heard  with  hearts  so  filled  with  love 

They  scarce  another  drop  could  bear. 
God  bless  the  Church  that  keeps  alive, 

From  year  to  year,  that  custom  old 
Of  tenting  in  some  rural  wood, 

And  gathering  wanderers  to  the  fold. 

We  stood  at  eve  on  ocean's  beach, 

And  heard  the  waves  like  thunder  roll ; 
And  as  we  knelt  upon  the  sand, 

God  came  and  spoke  to  every  soul ; 
The  sky  was  radiant ;  varied  tints 

Of  crimson,  gold,  and  blue  it  wore ; 
O  never  seemed  the  glowing  West 

More  bright  and  beautiful  before. 
And  should  we  never  meet  again 

As  then  we  met  at  sunset  hour, 
We'll  talk  it  over  by  and  by 

In  some  delightful  shady  bower 
Of  Eden's  land ;  ah,  yes ;  and  there, 

While  rapture  tunes  our  souls  to  love, 
We'll  praise  the  Lord  in  higher  strains 

For  those  bright  days  at  Ocean  Grove. 


114  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

GRANDPA'S  BLESSING. 

WE  were  sitting  after  supper, 

On  a  cold  and  frosty  night, 
In  our  cozy  little  parlor, 

O  so  cheerful,  warm,  and  bright ! 
And  our  grandpa  said,  "  My  children, 

Have  you  all  been  good  to-day  ?  " 
Then  each  little  voice  grew  silent 

As  we  knelt  with  him  to  pray. 
I  shall  ne'er  forget  the  burden  iX 

Of  that  simple,  fervent  prayer  : 
"  Lord,  I  thank  thee  for  Thy  mercy, 

And  Thy  ever  watchful  care  ; 
I  shall  soon  lay  down  my  armor, 

For  my  days  are  well-nigh  told, 
But  I  long  to  see  these  dear  ones 

Gathered  safely  in  Thy  fold  ; 
Keep  us  through  the  night,  our  Father ; 

May  we  all  in  safety  wake ; 
Guide  us  to  Thy  heavenly  mansions ; 

This  we  ask  for  Jesus'  sake." 

Then  he  kissed  us  all  so  fondly, 

Laid  his  hands  on  every  head, 
Gave  us  each  a  parting  blessing 

As  we  tripped  away  to  bed  ; 
But  an  angel  came  at  midnight, 

And  his  wings  were  white  as  snow ; 
Grandpa  knew  the  voice  that  called  him. 

And  his  soul  was  glad  to  go ; 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  115 

But  he  bade  our  mother  tell  us 

He  had  only  gone  before, 
And,  if  faithful,  we  should  meet  him 

On  the  happy  golden  shore. 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  ANGEL. 

A  MOTHER  sat  musing  at  close  of  day 
By  the  cradle  bed  where  her  firstborn  lay  ; 
On  the  dimpled  cheek  of  that  cherub  fair 
Had  fallen  a  ringlet  of  golden  hair ; 
And  thither  a  truant  sunbeam  strayed, 
And  long  with  that  beautiful  tress  it  played, 
Till  it  faded  away  in  the  crimson  west, 
And  sank  like  the  innocent  child  to  rest. 


Why  trembled  a  tear  in  that  mother's  eye 

As  she  warbled  her  simple  lullaby, 

And  her  soulfelt  prayer  on  the  breath  of  even 

Went  up  to  the  throne  of  her  God  in  heaven  ? 

Can  ye  fathom  the  ocean,  dark  and  deep, 

Where  the  mighty  waves  in  their  grandeur  sweep  ? 

Or  number  the  radiant  orbs  above  ? 

Ah,  then  may  ye  fathom  a  mother's  love ; 

That  pearly  tear  was  a  gem  more  fair 

Than  the  ruby  bright  or  the  diamond  rare, 

For  it  told  what  language  could  ne'er  reveal, 

A  love  which  a  mother  alone  can  feel. 


116  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

From  the  fount  of  life  and  the  source  of  light, 
From  the  sacred  fields  of  Elysium  bright, 
Through  the  cloudless  depths  of  ethereal  blue, 
Quickly  the  form  of  an  angel  flew  ; 
O  soft  was  the  breath  of  the  balmy  air 
As  it  felt  the  touch  of  his  pinions  fair 
Diffusing  aromas  sweet  from  flowers 
Of  amaranth  cradled  in  Eden's  bowers. 

A  tear  was  still  in  that  mother's  eye 

As  she  warbled  her  simple  lullaby, 

For  she  looked  on  the  angel  form  that  smiled 

On  the  cherub  face  of  her  sleeping  child ; 

And  she  heard  low  music  of  heavenly  joy 

Wooing  the  soul  of  her  darling  boy. 

There  were  anxious  thoughts  in  her  throbbing 

breast 

As  his  pallid  lips  to  her  own  were  pressed  ; 
A  moment  his  eye  grew  strangely  bright, 
Then  closed  in  a  long  and  last  good  night ; 
The  angel  of  mercy,  the  child  of  love, 
Together  had  flown  to  the  realms  above. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  117 

A  RHAPSODY. 

[Written  while  standing  by  a  fountain  in  one  of  our  city  jparks.] 

PLAYING  away,  playing  away, 

Cooling  my  brow  with  thy  silvery  spray, 

Beautiful  fountain,  pure  and  bright, 

Throwing  thy  drops  like  jets  of  light, 

There's  a  voice  that  comes  from  thy  depths  so  clear, 

A  strange,  wild  voice  that  I  love  to  hear. 

Playing  away,  playing  away, 

Telling  thy  story  by  night  and  day, 

While  a  rainbow  hangs  on  thy  sparkling  crest, 

Pointing  the  soul  to  a  home  of  rest — 

Not  here,  not  here,  but  in  yonder  clime 

That  needs  no  dial  to  mark  its  time ; 

The  years  are  ages,  and  days  are  years  ; 

There  is  neither  sorrow  nor  night  nor  tears ; 

And  the  Fountain  of  Life  with  its  crystal  spray 

Forever  and  ever  is  playing  away. 


OUR  LORD  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF 

LAZARUS. 

"  WHERE  have  ye  laid  him  ?  "    Once  that  God- 
like voice 
Rebuked  the  winds  and  bade  them  seek  their 

caves ; 

Commanded,  and  the  wild,  tempestuous  sea, 
Whose  wrathful  billows  lashed  the  vessel's  side 
As  if  to  plunge  her  'neath  their  foaming  surge, 


118  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Was  in  a  moment  calm  and  motionless; 

The  thunder  heard  His  mandate,  and  was  mute  ; 

The  parting  clouds  let  forth  the  prisoned  light 

To  sparkle  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

But  now  that  voice  was  tremulous  and  sad ; 

His  very  soul  was  rent,  convulsed  with  grief ; 

His  human  nature  felt  and  suffered,  too, 

With  those  who,  crushed  beneath  affliction's  rod, 

Looked  up  to  Him  for  hope  in  their  despair. 

He  knew  and  loved  those  stricken  ones,  who  came 

In  their  bereavement,  and  were  kneeling  there, 

And  who  in  turn  had  said  amid  their  tears, 

"  Lord,  if  Thou  hadst  been  here  this  bitter  cup 

Thou  wouldst  have  stayed  ;  our  brother  had  not 

died  ; " 

And  He  who  spake  as  man  could  never  speak, 
To  one  of  them  had  answered,  "  Fear  thou  not ; 
Behold,  thy  brother  from  the  dead  shall  rise  ; 
I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life; 
He  that  on  me  believeth,  know  thou  this, 
Though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  again, 
And  whosoever  living  doth  believe 
And  trust  in  me,  shall  never,  never  die." 
Then  as  the  wound  of  sorrow  flowed  afresh 
From  those  lone  hearts,  he  looked  around,  and  saw 
The  weeping  Jews,  whom  sympathy  had  moved 
To  follow  Mary  as  she  quickly  rose, 
Believing  that  she  sought  her  brother's  grave. 
He  in  the  spirit  groaned,  and,  troubled,  said, 
"  Where  have  ye  laid  him  ?  "  Sadly  they  replied, 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  119 

"  Lord,  come  and  see  ;  "  and  lo,  Messiah  wept. 

O  consecrated  tears  !  shall  one  be  lost  ? 

No  ;  in  an  urn  held  by  a  cherub  hand, 

An  infant  cherub  He  had  blessed  on  earth, 

Each  hallowed    drop    preserved   was   borne    to 

heaven. 

And  on  the  glorious  battlements  of  light, 
From  whence  the  angel  hosts  our  world  survey, 
They  stood    in   wonder,   bowed   their  reverent 

heads, 

Hushed  every  harp,  and  silently  adored 
His  love  who  thus  could  pity  mortal  woe. 
Slowly  He  followed  where  the  mourners  led ; 
And  some  there  were  who  questioned, "  Could  not 

He 

Who  oped  the  sightless  eyes  and  gave  them  light 
Have  caused  that  e'en  this  man  should  not  have 

died  ?  " 

Again  the  Saviour,  groaning  in  Himself, 
Oppressed  and  careworn,  cometh  to  the  grave. 
No  verdant  mound  laved  with  the  falling  spray 
Of  silvery  fountain  or  transparent  lake 
Received  the  dust  of  the  departed  one, 
Nor  bud  nor  blossom  marked  his  resting  place ; 
It  was  a  cave  on  which  a  stone  was  laid  ; 
They  rolled  it  back,  and  then  each  heart  was  still, 
For  Jesus  lifted  up  His  eyes  and  said, 
"Father,  I  thank  Thee  that  my  prayer  is  heard; 
And  while  I  know  Thou  alway  hearest  me, 
Yet  for  their  sake,  the  people  gathered  here, 


120  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

I  thus  invoke  Thee,  thus  Thy  throne  address, 
That  they  may  know  that  I  am  sent  by  Thee." 
A  moment's  pause,  and  then  He  cried  aloud, 
"  Lazarus,  come  forth  ! "  and  through  each  quiver- 
ing vein 
The  lifeblood  coursed,  the  warm  pulse  throbbed 

anew, 

And,  starting  to  his  feet,  perfect  and  sound, 
The  dead  was  raised  and  Jesus  glorified. 


EVENING. 

A  REMINISCENCE. 

Go,  busy  care,  awhile  depart ; 

These  moments  have  no  place  for  thee  ; 
Go,  take  thy  burden  from  my  heart, 

And  leave  this  hallowed  hour  to  me ; 
The  sun  has  gone,  his  farewell  ray 

Has  kissed  the  rosy-tinted  west ; 
The  swallow  twittering  hies  away, 

And  gathers  all  her  brood  to  rest. 

Go,  busy  care,  and  let  me  feel 

The  touch  of  evening's  grateful  breeze, 
And  hear  its  whisper  lightly  steal 

Among  these  long  familiar  trees ; 
I  love  to  sit  beneath  their  shade 

That  overlook  yon  ruined  dome, 
And  count  the  years  when  first  I  played 

Beside  its  porch  and  called  it  home. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  121 

I  had  no  care,  no  sorrow,  then  ; 

My  life  was  like  a  summer  day, 
My  world  this  lovely  sylvan  glen, 

Nor  had  I  thought  or  wish  to  stray, 
But  tarry  with  its  birds  and  flowers, 

Its  autumn  leaves  and  winter  snow; 
They  brought  their  merry,  laughing  hours, 

And  bade  my  heart  with  pleasure  glow. 

And  then,  that  lake  whose  glossy  wave 

So  like  a  burnished  mirror  seems, 
Where  swans  their  graceful  beauty  lave — 

And,  in  my  happy  childhood  dreams, 
How  oft  I've  rowed  my  tiny  boat 

Along  its  bosom  calm  and  still, 
And  caroled  to  the  silver  note 

Of  echo  from  the  distant  hill. 

Sweet  native  wild,  to  me  so  dear, 

How  changed,  how  sadly  changed,  thou  art ! 
But  love  hath  still  its  altar  here, 

And  thou  art  sacred  to  my  heart ; 
Yes,  sacred  ;  for  alone  I  weep 

O'er  broken  ties  and  moss-grown  graves, 
Where  daisies  come  their  watch  to  keep, 

And  memory's  drooping  cypress  waves. 

One  mound  is  left ;  I  mind  it  well ; 

And  oft  the  sod  my  feet  have  pressed, 
Where,  by  and  by,  the  old  church  bell 

Will  toll  me  softly  to  my  rest ; 


122  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  when  I  close  these  weary  eyes, 
May  He,  who  knows  my  every  care, 

From  His  great  temple  in  the  skies 
Stoop  down  and  take  my  spirit  there  — 

Where  purer  joys  than  ever  thrilled 

My  bosom  here  shall  come  to  me, 
And  every  throbbing  pulse  be  stilled 

In  that  sweet  immortality — 
That  world  of  song,  from  whose  bright  shore 

All  gloom  and  cloud  and  storm  are  driven, 
And  love  keeps  vigil  evermore, 

Nor  weeps  o'er  broken  ties  in  Heaven. 


MOTHER,  PRAY  FOR  ME. 

MOTHER,  mother,  I  am  waiting 

For  your  blessing  ere  I  go ; 
But  your  head  is  bowed  in  sorrow  ; 

Can  I  leave  you  weeping  so  ? 
Wipe  away  your  tears,  my  mother, 

I  must  brave  a  stormy  sea ; 
But  my  heart  will  fear  no  danger 

While  my  mother  prays  for  me. 

You  have  taught  me  to  remember 

My  Creator  in  my  youth  ; 
You  have  taught  me  words  of  comfort 

From  the  page  of  life  and  truth  ; 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  123 

And  those  blessed  words,  repeated 
Morn  and  eve  beside  your  knee, 

Will  be  sweeter  now ;  but,  mother, 
Don't  forget  to  pray  for  me. 

When  you  watch  the  sky  at  evening, 

Dark  with  threatening  clouds  o'ercast, 
And  you  hear  the  restless  moaning 

Of  the  cold,  foreboding  blast; 
When  you  think  your  boy  is  tossing 

On  a  wild  and  angry  sea, 
I  shall  know  at  such  a  moment 

That  my  mother  prays  for  me. 


PEACE;  BE  STILL. 

WHEN,  o'er  the  billows  wild  and  dark, 
Was  rudely  tossed  the  Saviour's  barque, 
He  calmed  them  by  His  sovereign  will, 
And  bade  the  angry  storm  be  still. 

The  wild  winds  cease — the  billows  sleep 

In  silence  on  the  mighty  deep ; 

For  God,  omnipotent  to  save, 

Can  calm  the  wind  and  rule  the  wave. 

Thus  when  tempestuous  passions  swell, 
And  we  against  His  law  rebel, 
O,  may  our  hearts  His  Spirit  fill, 
And  bid  the  angry  storm  be  still. 


124  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  O,  in  sorrow's  gloomy  hour 
Still  may  we  own  His  sovereign  power ; 
Bow  meekly  to  His  gracious  will, 
And  bid  the  throbbing  heart  be  still. 


THE  BAPTISM  OF  OUR  LORD. 

HIGH  in  his  zenith  rode  the  King  of  day, 

And,  from  his  flaming  chariot  as  it  passed, 

Let  down  his  glory  like  a  flood  of  gold 

On    Jordan's  waters,  famed  on  history's  page, 

Where  Israel's  mighty  host  whom  Joshua  led 

To  their  inheritance,  fair  Canaan's  land, 

Beheld  the  river  parted  in  the  midst ; 

The  waters,  like  a  wall  on  either  side, 

Moved  not  till  every  footstep  died  away 

And  all  were  safe ;  and  then  Jehovah's  voice 

Bade  them  return  to  their  own  place  again, — 

The  Jordan  on  whose  brink  Elijah  stood, 

And  with  his  mantle  smote  the  turbid  waves, 

And  they  divided;  he  on  solid  ground 

Trod  fearless,  for  he  knew  God's  hand  was  there 

How  beautiful  that  ancient  river  now, 
Its  waters  placid,  while  the  idle  breeze 
Slept  on  its  bosom,  and  the  noontide  sun 
Kissed  every  wave,  chased  every  cloud  away, 
Lest  they  should  break  that  sweet  tranquillity ! 
And  he  whose  raiment  was  of  camel's  hair, 
Whose  meat  was  locusts  and  the  honey  wild, 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  125 

Who  in  Judea's  wilderness  had  cried, 
"  Repent  ye,  for  God's  kingdom  is  at  hand," 
Stood  on  those  lovely  banks  amid  the  throng 
That  from  the  region  round  about  had  come 
To  hear  his  words,  and,  penitent  for  sin, 
With  due  confession,  meekly  to  receive 
The  holy  sign,  the  one  baptismal  rite, — 
To  whom  in  tones  prophetic  thus  he  spoke  : 
"  Now  at  the  root  the  sharpened  ax  is  laid, 
And  every  tree  that  bears  not  goodly  fruit 
Shall  have  no  more  a  place  amid  the  soil. 
But,  severed  branch  by  branch,  shall  fuel  be 
To  feed  the  flames  that  must  forever  burn. 
With  water  to  repentance  I  baptize ; 
But  lo,  among  you  shall  another  come, 
Greater  than  I,  the  latchet  of  whose  shoes, 
Behold,  I  am  not  worthy  to  unloose, — 
He  shall  baptize  you  with  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Yea,  and  with  fire  ;  of  Him  I  witness  bear." 

See  now  the  Baptist ;  what  hath  moved  his  soul  ? 
Why  fixed  his  gaze  upon  that  stranger  form, 
Mild,  eloquent,  serene,  majestic,  pure  ? 
Who  would  not  love  that  more  than  earthly  face, 
Those  gentle  looks  with  tender  sadness  twined, 
Those  olive  eyes  to  whose  expression  deep 
His  soul  benignant  lent  a  heavenly  beam 
That  found  its  way  to  many  a  grief-worn  heart, 
And  left  a  smile  of  peace  and  comfort  there  ? 
And  this  was  He  whose  birth  the  angels  sang. 


126  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

And  o'er  whose  cradle  shone  His  natal  star 
So  brightly  when  the  Orient  wise  men  came, 
And  laid  their  costly  treasures  at  His  feet ; 
This,  too,  was  He  whom  Simeon  in  his  arms 
Took  up,  and  blessed,  and  said,  "  Lord,  now  I 

may 

Depart  in  peace,  for  lo,  these  aged  eyes 
In  this  fair  Child  have  Thy  salvation  seen." 

Then  cometh  Jesus,  saith  the  inspired  page, 

From  Galilee  to  Jordan,  unto  John, 

To  be  baptized  of  him  ;  but  John  refused ; 

"  No,  I  have  need  to  be  baptized  of  Thee," 

His  meek  reply,  "  and  comest  Thou  to  me  ?  " 

But  Jesus  answered,  "  Let  it  be  so  now, 

For  thus  it  doth  become  us  to  fulfill 

All  righteousness."   The  Baptist  urged  no  more. 

They  bent  their  steps  down  toward  the  river's 

brink  ; 

The  waves  adoring  murmured  as  His  form 
Plunged  'neath  their  depths,  and  sparkled  when 

He  rose. 

Out  of  the  water  upward  as  He  came, 
Harps  rang  in  chorus  by  the  Tree  of  Life, 
And  angels  sang  hosannas  round  the  throne  ; 
The  heavens  were  opened  with  ecstatic  joy ; 
The  Spirit  thence  descending  like  a  dove 
Abode  upon  Him,  and  the  Father's  voice 
Proclaimed  to  all,  "  This  is  My  Beloved  Son 
In  whom  I  am  well  pleased;   believe  in  Him." 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  127 

WE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  THOU  DOEST. 

LORD,  we  know  not  what  Thou  doest, 

But  Thy  ways  are  kind  and  just ; 
And  Thy  word  of  life  has  taught  us 

To  believe,  obey,  and  trust ; 
Lord,  we  know  not  what  Thou  doest ; 

But,  in  yonder  morning  land, 
When  our  spirit  eyes  are  opened, 

We  shall  know  and  understand. 

Thou  wilt  show  us  why  'twas  needful 

Our  request  should  be  denied ; 
Why  our  dearest  hopes  were  blighted, 

And  our  faith  so  oft  was  tried ; 
Yes,  beyond  the  vale  of  shadows, 

In  the  golden  reaping  land, 
Why  our  hearts  were  bowed  in  sorrow 

We  shall  know  and  understand. 

Though  we  know  not  what  Thou  doest. 

We  will  trust  Thee  to  the  end  ; 
Thou  hast  veiled  from  us  in  wisdom 

What  we  could  not  comprehend  ; 
Yet,  beyond  the  silent  river, 

When  our  souls  with  joy  expand, 
Then  Thy  dealings,  blessed  Saviour, 

We  shall  know  and  understand. 


128  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  DYING  BOY. 

SAY,  why  are  you  weeping,  dear  mother  ? 

Sit  down  ;  I  have  something  to  tell ; 
I  heard  a  sweet  voice,  and  it  told  me 

That  all  with  my  spirit  was  well ; 
It  came  to  my  heart,  and  that  moment 

I  felt  not  a  struggle  or  pain  ; 
It  whispered  I  soon  should  be  happy, 

And  never  know  sorrow  again. 

Say,  why  are  you  weeping,  dear  mother  ? 

How  grateful  to  God  you  should  be 
That  He  in  His  love  has  provided 

A  home  of  such  beauty  for  me — 
A  home  on  the  banks  of  a  river 

Whose  waters  are  crystal  and  fair ; 
There  hunger  and  cold  cannot  reach  me ; 

And,  mother,  the  Saviour  is  there. 

Say,  why  are  you  weeping,  dear  mother  ? 

How  hard  you  have  toiled  for  my  sake  ! 
But  now  you  can  sleep,  and  so  calmly 

You  need  not  so  early  awake  ; 
Come  nearer ;  one  kiss,  gentle  mother; 

I'm  going,  I'm  speeding  my  flight ; 
Not  long  will  you  tarry  behind  me ; 

I'll  come  for  you,  mother.  Good  night. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THERE'S  MUSIC  IN  THE  AIR. 

THERE'S  music  in  the  air 

When  the  infant  morn  is  nigh, 
And  faint  its  blush  is  seen 

On  the  bright  and  laughing  sky  ; 
Many  a  harp's  ecstatic  sound 
Comes  with  thrill  of  joy  profound, 
While  we  list  enchanted  there 
To  the  music  in  the  air. 

There's  music  in  the  air 

When  the  noontide's  sultry  beam 
Reflects  a  golden  light 

On  the  distant  mountain  stream ; 
When  beneath  some  grateful  shade 
Sorrow's  aching  head  is  laid, 
Sweetly  to  the  spirit  there 
Comes  the  music  in  the  air. 

There's  music  in  the  air 

When  the  twilight's  gentle  sigh 
Is  lost  on  evening's  breast 

As  its  pensive  beauties  die ; 
129 


130  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Then,  O  then,  the  loved  ones  gone 
Wake  the  pure  celestial  song ; 
Angel  voices  greet  us  there 
In  the  music  in  the  air. 
1855. 


THE  HAZEL  DELL. 

IN  the  Hazel  Dell  my  Nelly's  sleeping, 

Nelly  loved  so  long  ! 
And  my  lonely,  lonely  watch  I'm  keeping, 

Nelly  lost  and  gone  ; 
Here  in  moonlight  often  we  have  wandered 

Through  the  silent  shade  ; 
Now  where  leafy  trees  are  drooping  downward 

Little  Nelly's  laid. 

Chorus : 

All  alone  my  watch  I'm  keeping 

In  the  Hazel  Dell, 
For  my  darling  Nelly's  near  me  sleeping, — 

Nelly  dear,  farewell. 

In  the  Hazel  Dell  my  Nelly's  sleeping, 

Where  the  flowers  wave, 
And  the  silent  stars  are  nightly  weeping 

O'er  poor  Nelly's  grave  ; 
Hopes  that  once  my  bosom  fondly  cherished 

Smile  no  more  on  me; 
Every  dream  of  joy,  alas,  has  perished, 

Nelly  dear,  with  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  131 

Now  I'm  weary,  friendless,  and  forsaken, 

Watching  here  alone ; 
Nelly,  thou  no  more  wilt  fondly  cheer  me 

With  thy  loving  tone  ; 
Yet  forever  shall  thy  gentle  image 

In  my  memory  dwell, 
And  my  tears  thy  lonely  grave  shall  moisten  ; 

Nelly  dear,  farewell. 
1852. 


132  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


ROSALIE,  THE  PRAIRIE  FLOWER. 

ON  the  distant  prairie,  where  the  heather  wild, 
In  its  quiet  beauty,  lived  and  smiled, 
Stands  a  little  cottage,  and  a  creeping  vine 
Loves  around  its  porch  to  twine ; 
In  that  peaceful  dwelling  was  a  lovely  child, 
With  her  blue  eyes  beaming  soft  and  mild, 
And  the  wavy  ringlets  of  her  flaxen  hair 
Floating  in  the  summer  air. 

Chorus : 

Fair  as  a  lily,  joyous  and  free, 
Light  of  that  prairie  home  was  she  ; 
Everyone  who  knew  her  felt  the  gentle  power 
Of  Rosalie,  the  Prairie  Flower. 

On  that  distant  prairie,  when  the  days  were  long, 

Tripping  like  a  fairy,  sweet  her  song, 

With  the  sunny  blossoms  and  the  birds  at  play, 

Beautiful  and  bright  as  they  ; 

When  the  twilight  shadows  gathered  in  the  west, 

And  the  voice  of  nature  sank  to  rest, 

Like  a  cherub  kneeling  seemed  the  lovely  child, 

With  her  gentle  eyes  so  mild. 

But  the  summer  faded,  and  a  chilly  blast 
O'er  that  happy  cottage  swept  at  last ; 
When  the  autumn  song-bird  woke  the  dewy  morn, 
Little  Prairie  Flower  was  gone ; 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  133 

For  the  angels  whispered  softly  in  her  ear, 
"  Child,  thy  Father  calls  thee ;  stay  not  here ;  " 
And  they  gently  bore  her,  robed  in  spotless  white, 
To  their  blissful  home  in  light. 

Chorus  : 

Though  we  shall  never  look  on  her  more, 
Gone  with  the  love  and  joy  she  bore, 
Far  away  she's  blooming  in  a  fadeless  bower, 
Sweet  Rosalie,  the  Prairie  Flower. 

1855. 


134  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  HONEYSUCKLE  GLEN. 

IN  the  honeysuckle  glen,  where  odors  sweet 

Perfume  the  breeze  that  floats  along, 
And  the  rosy  tints  of  morn  with  blushes  greet 

The  lark  as  she  trills  her  song ; 
In  the  honeysuckle  glen,  how  pleasantly 

The  happy  summer  days  would  glide, 
When  I  wandered  by  the  rill,  so  merrily, 

And  Lilla  was  by  my  side. 

Chorus : 

Lilla,  Lilla,  wake  again 

From  thy  sleep  in  the  honeysuckle  glen  ; 

Lilla,  dearest,  all  is  o'er, 

Thou  wilt  return  no  more. 

In  the  honeysuckle  glen,  secluded  far, 

The  home  of  nature's  fairest  bowers, 
When  with  mild  and  gentle  light  the  evening  star 

Looks  forth  on  the  dewy  flowers ; 
In  the  honeysuckle  glen,  how  tenderly 

I  looked  upon  my  lovely  bride, 
And  I  never  dreamed  that  care  could  reach  me  there 

When  Lilla  was  by  my  side. 

Through  the  honeysuckle  glen  I've  wandered  now 

For  many  weary  years  alone  ; 
O,  I  never  more  shall  see  her  angel  brow, 

Or  list  to  her  winning  tone ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POfiMS.  135 

But  the  parting  words  she  spoke  I  cherish  still, 
And  wear  them  on  my  breaking  heart, 

Till  I  meet  her  on  that  shore,  our  sorrows  o'er, 
Where  loved  ones  no  more  shall  part. 

1855. 


136  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


MOTHER'S  GOOD-BYE. 

SIT  down  by  the  side  of  your  mother,  my  boy ; 

You  have  only  a  moment,  I  know; 
But  you'll  stay  till  I  give  you  my  parting  advice ; 

'Tis  all  that  I  have  to  bestow ; 
You  leave  us  to  seek  for  employment,  my  boy ; 

By  the  world  you  have  yet  to  be  tried  ; 
But  in  all  the  temptations  and  struggles  you  meet, 

May  your  heart  in  the  Saviour  confide. 

Chorus  : 

Hold  fast  to  the  right,  hold  fast  to  the  right, 
Wherever  your  footsteps  may  roam  ; 

0  forsake  not  the  way  of  salvation,  my  boy, 
That  you  learned  from  your  mother  at  home. 

You'll  find  in  your  satchel  a  Bible,  my  boy ; 

'Tis  the  book  of  all  others  the  best ; 
It  will  teach  you  to  live,  it  will  help  you  to  die, 

And  lead  to  the  gates  of  the  blest ; 

1  gave  you  to  God  in  your  cradle,  my  boy ; 

I  have  taught  you  the  best  that  I  knew ; 
And  as  long  as  His  mercy  permits  me  to  live, 
I  shall  never  cease  praying  for  you. 

Your  father  is  coming  to  bid  you  good-bye ; 
O,  how  lonely  and  sad  we  shall  be ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  137 

But  when  far  from  the  scenes  of  your  childhood 
and  youth, 

You'll  think  of  your  father  and  me ; 
I  want  you  to  feel  every  word  I  have  said, 

For  it  came  from  the  depths  of  my  love  ; 
And,  my  boy,  if  we  never  behold  you  on  earth, 

Will  you  promise  to  meet  us  above  ? 
1878. 


138  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

His  locks  were  white  as  winter's  snow, 

His  form  was  bent  with  age ; 
And  while  he  gazed  with  reverent  eyes 

Upon  the  sacred  page, 
A  sudden  joy  lit  up  his  face, 

And  o'er  and  o'er  again 
He  praised  the  Lord,  his  strength  and  shield, 

For  threescore  years  and  ten. 

"  O  love,  amazing  love,"  he  cried, 

"  For  one  like  me  to  die  ! 
I've  tried  to  read  my  title  clear 

To  mansions  in  the  sky ; 
And  though,  alas,  this  heart  of  mine 

Has  oft  unfaithful  been, 
The  Lord  hath  not  forsaken  me 

For  threescore  years  and  ten. 

"  I  have  no  home  to  call  my  own, 

No  dwelling  here  below  ; 
Of  those  who  gathered  round  me  once 

I  am  the  last  to  go  ; 
I  bore  them  to  their  resting  place 

In  yonder  silent  glen  ; 
And  yet  to-day  my  life  has  reached 

Its  threescore  years  and  ten. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  139 

"  1  am  not  weary  of  the  cross, 

Nor  would  I  lay  it  down 
Till  Jesus  with  His  own  dear  hand 

Puts  on  my  promised  crown, — 
Till,  in  His  righteousness  arrayed, 

I  stand  complete,  and  then 
I'll  shout  the  grace  that  kept  my  soul 

For  threescore  years  and  ten." 

He  leaned  a  moment  on  his  staff, 

Then  laid  him  down  to  rest ; 
His  aged  hands  as  if  in  sleep 

Were  folded  on  his  breast ; 
A  smile  of  peace  was  on  his  lips ; 

He  breathed  a  prayer,  and  then — 
His  soul  was  with  the  God  he  served 

For  threescore  years  and  ten. 


140  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


UNDER  A  CLOUD. 

WHEN  my  heart  was  almost  breaking 

'Neath  its  heavy  weight  of  care, 
And  the  cross  that  lay  before  me 

Seemed  too  great  for  me  to  bear, — 
Came  a  voice  that  whispered  gently, 

"  Why  discouraged  shouldst  thou  be  ? 
Answer  this,  and  answer  truly, 

Art  thou  faithful  ?  lovest  thou  Me  ?  " 

And  I  answered,  "  O  my  Saviour, 
In  my  weakness  make  me  strong; 

Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee, 
And  Thy  love  shall  be  my  song." 

When  I  tried  to  work  for  Jesus, 

And  I  pleaded  at  His  throne 
For  the  witness  of  the  Spirit 

That  my  heart  was  still  His  own, — 
How  I  felt  reproved  and  humbled 

When  again  He  said  to  me, 
"  Answer  this,  and  answer  truly, 

Have  I  e'er  forsaken  thee  ?  " 

And  I  answered,  "O  my  Saviour, 
In  my  weakness  make  me  strong; 

Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee, 
And  Thy  love  shall  be  my  song." 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  141 

Now  I  rest  securely,  calmly, 

For  I  know  that  He  is  nigh ; 
Pain  or  sickness,  if  He  send  it — 

Not  a  murmur,  not  a  sigh  ; 
Still  I  hear  His  voice  repeating, 

"  Once  I  bore  the  cross  for  thee ; 
Answer  truly ;  art  thou  willing 

Now  to  bear  thine  own  for  Me  ?  " 

Still  I  answer,  "O  my  Saviour, 
In  my  weakness  make  me  strong ; 

Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee, 
And  Thy  love  shall  be  my  song." 


142  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  SINGER  AND  THE  HARP. 

SLOWLY  the  day  was  fading, 

A  day  I  shall  ne'er  forget ; 
Its  scenes,  like  the  ivy  tendrils, 

Are  clinging  around  me  yet. 
Drearily  passed  the  moments, 

And  wearily  passed  the  hours, 
And  I  longed  for  a  breath  of  the  early  spring, 

And  a  smile  from  the  young  year  flowers 
I  knelt  where  a  heart  was  breaking 

Alone  in  its  anguish  deep, 
And  tenderly  tried  to  whisper 

God's  promise  to  those  that  weep. 
But  a  cloud  came  over  the  sunlight 

That  shone  in  the  radiant  sky, 
And  the  truth  that  I  sought  to  utter 

Seemed  drifting  unheeded  by. 
Soft  as  a  wild  bird's  carol, 

A  harp  on  the  twilight  rang, 
And  a  singer,  its  chords  awaking, 

These  words  to  the  music  sang: 
"  O  cast  on  the  Lord  thy  burden, 

And  trust  in  thy  soul's  best  friend, 
To  comfort,  sustain,  and  keep  thee 

Till  life  and  its  cares  shall  end." 
Thrice  were  the  words  repeated  ; 

The  melody,  sweet  and  clear, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  143 

Was  caught  by  a  listening  angel 

Who  lingered  its  tones  to  hear. 
The  singer  and  harp  had  triumphed, 

The  weary  had  found  a  rest ; 
The  door  of  a  heart  was  opened 

To  welcome  its  heavenly  guest. 
O  harp  on  the  twilight  stealing, 

O  singer  at  God's  behest, 
Still  breathe  in  the  ear  of  sorrow, 

And  say  to  the  toil-oppressed  : 
"  O  cast  on  the  Lord  thy  burden, 

And  trust  in  thy  soul's  best  friend, 
To  comfort,  sustain,  and  keep  thee 

Till  time  and  its  cares  shall  end." 


144  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


GRANDMA'S  ROCKING-CHAIR. 

I  am  thinking  of  a  cottage, 

In  a  quiet,  rural  dell, 
And  a  brook  that  ran  beside  it, 

That  I  used  to  love  so  well ; 
I  have  sat  for  hours  and  listened, 

While  it  rippled  at  my  feet, 
And  I  thought  no  other  music 

In  the  world  was  half  so  sweet. 

There  are  forms  that  flit  before  me ; 

Those  are  times  I  yet  recall ; 
But  the  voice  of  gentle  Grandma 

I  remember  best  of  all ; 
In  her  loving  arms  she  held  me, 

And  beneath  her  patient  care 
I  was  borne  away  to  dreamland, 

In  her  dear  old  rocking-chair. 

I  am  thinking  of  a  promise 

That  I  made  when  last  we  met ; 
Twas  a  rosy  summer  twilight 

That  I  never  shall  forget ; 
"  Grandma's  going  home,"  she  whispered, 

"  And  the  time  is  drawing  nigh  ; 
Tell  me,  darling,  will  you  meet  her 

In  our  Father's  house  on  high  ?  " 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  143 

She  was  looking  down  upon  me ; 

For  a  moment  all  was  still ; 
Then  I  answered  with  emotion  : 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,  I  will." 
How  she  clasped  me  to  her  bosom ! 

And  we  bowed  our  heads  in  prayer 
Where  so  oft  we  knelt  together, 

By  her  dear  old  rocking-chair. 

She  has  passed  the  vale  of  shadows, 

She  has  crossed  the  narrow  sea, 
And  beyond  the  crystal  river 

She  is  waiting  now  for  me : 
But  in  fancy  I  recall  her, 

And  again  we  kneel  in  prayer, 
While  my  heart  renews  its  promise 

By  her  dear  old  rocking-chair. 


146  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  WHITE  SAIL. 

WE  stood  and  gazed  on  the  ebbing  tide, 

Under  an  arch  of  ethereal  blue  ; 
From  a  motley  group  we  had  turned  aside, 

And  near  to  the  water's  edge  we  drew. 
'Twas  a  cloudless  day,  and  a  magic  scene 

That  held  us  its  captives,  my  friend  and  me — 
Those  beautiful  isles  in  their  robes  of  green, 

Stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
Covered  with  blossoms  and  birds  and  trees, 
Playing  bo-peep  with  the  summer  breeze ; 
Those  rocks  in  their  grandeur  that  stood  sublime, 

Rearing  their  heads  in  the  golden  sun, 
Counted  not  years  on  the  dial  of  time, 

But  numbered  their  centuries  one  by  one. 
And  well  I  remember  how  strangely  sweet 

The  voice  of  the  wind  as  we  heard  it  then, 
And  the  waves  that  were  singing  beneath  our  feet 

A  song  that  will  never  come  back  again. 
It  fluttered  away  to  the  seagull's  home, 

And  its  tones  were  lost  in  the  ocean's  roar ; 
It  flitted  afar  like  youth's  bright  star 

That  rises  and  sets,  and  returns  no  more. 
And  still  as  we  gazed  on  the  ebbing  tide, 

And  the  boats  came  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Our  eyes  in  the  distance  a  sail  descried 

Over  the  water,  bending  low, 

White  as  the  downy,  drifting  snow. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  147 

Over  the  billows  that  calmly  slept, 

A  vessel  approaching  we  now  could  trace ; 
How  steadily  onward  her  course  she  kept ! 

We  wondered  where  was  her  mooring  place. 
Nor  wondered  long,  for  the  old  flag  true 

Fluttered  aloft  from  her  gallant  mast ; 
And  we  heard  the  shouts  of  a  hardy  crew, 

And  they  waved  their  hands  as  they  quickly 

passed ; 
And  their  welcome  home  was  the  laughing  gale 

That  played  with  the  folds  of  that  snow-white 

sail. 
And  then  as  we  talked  of  that  radiant  shore 

Our  barque   would    reach   when   our   voyage 

should  cease, 

When  we  thought  of  the  loved  ones  gone  before, 
River  and  island  and  rock  and  sky 

Were  lost  in  a  vision  more  bright  and  fair; 
For  our  faith  went  up  to  the  gates  on  high, 

And  we  almost  felt  we  had  entered  there. 
The  day  has  gone,  and  its  sun  has  set, 

The  tide  rolls  on  with  its  ebb  and  flow, 
But  that  snow-white  sail  we  shall  ne'er  forget; 

It  will  live  in  the  heart  of  the  Long  Ago. 


148  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

ALMOST  IN  SIGHT  OF  THE  HARBOR. 

[On  recovering  from  a  serious  illness.] 

ALMOST  in  sight  of  the  harbor ; 

O  what  a  beautiful  throng 
Over  me  lovingly  bending, 

Singing  a  lullaby  song  ! 

Chorus : 

Almost  in  sight  of  the  harbor, 

Almost  at  home  on  the  shore ; 
Only  the  signal  to  enter, 

Only  a  stroke  of  the  oar. 

Almost  in  sight  of  the  harbor ; 

Never  a  wish  nor  a  care  ; 
Never  a  doubt  nor  a  sorrow 

Clouded  that  vision  so  fair. 

Almost  in  sight  of  the  harbor ; 

Perfect  and  peaceful  my  rest, 
Trusting  my  precious  Redeemer, 

Sheltered  and  safe  on  His  breast. 

Almost  in  sight  of  the  harbor 

Surely  my  spirit  has  been  ; 
Yet,  to  the  dear  ones  I  cherish, 

Prayer  has  restored  me  again. 
1896. 


HYMNS. 

WE  ARE  GOING. 

WE  are  going,  we  are  going 

To  a  home  beyond  the  skies, 
Where  the  fields  are  robed  in  beauty, 

And  the  sunlight  never  dies  ; 
Where  the  fount  of  joy  is  flowing 

In  the  valley  green  and  fair, 
We  shall  dwell  in  love  together; 

There  -will  be  no  parting  there. 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 

And  the  music  we  have  heard 
Like  the  echo  of  the  woodland, 

Or  the  carol  of  a  bird  ; 
With  the  rosy  light  of  morning, 

On  the  calm  and  fragrant  air, 
Still  it  murmurs,  softly  murmurs, 

There  will  be  no  parting  there. 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 

When  the  day  of  life  is  o'er, 
To  that  pure  and  happy  region 

Where  our  friends  have  gone  before 
They  are  singing  with  the  angels 

In  that  land  so  bright  and  fair ; 
We  shall  dwell  with  them  forever; 

There  will  be  no  parting  there. 
1864.  149 


150  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

CLOSING   HYMN  FOR  THE   NORTH- 
FIELD  CONVENTIONS. 

WITHIN  these  consecrated  walls, 

Convened  from  year  to  year, 
We  all  have  said,  like  one  of  old, 

"  'Tis  good  to  linger  here  ;  " 
Though  from  the  mount  we  must  descend, 

And  toil  amid  the  plain, 
Yet  we  can  sing,  with  joyful  hearts, 
Good  night,  we'll  meet  again. 
Chorus  : 

Good  night  till  we  meet  again, 
Good  night  till  we  meet  again ; 
God  keep  us  in  bonds  of  love 
Until  we  meet  again. 

From  North  and  South,  from  East  and  West, 

From  o'er  the  ocean  wide, 
Among  these  rural  scenes  we  came, 

To  lay  our  cares  aside ; 
To  breathe  the  mountain  air  so  sweet, 

In  Northfield's  fair  domain  ; 
But  now  our  resting  time  is  o'er  ; 

Good  night,  we'll  meet  again. 

O  blessed  days,  how  soon  they've  passed, 

While,  at  the  Master's  feet, 
We  sat  to  hear  and  learn  of  Him, 

In  this  beloved  retreat ! 


HYMNS.  i5l 

We've  gathered  gems  of  precious  truth, 

Whose  light  will  long  remain, 
And  keep  our  bond  of  union  bright 

Until  we  meet  again. 

And  now,  in  deep  and  earnest  tones, 

The  words  of  blessing  fall : 
"  May  grace  and  peace  from  Christ  our  Lord 

Henceforth  be  with  you  all ! " 
With  such  a  prayer  to  cheer  us  on, 

Let  us  from  doubts  refrain, 
And  go  and  work  with  joyful  hearts 

Until  we  meet  again. 
1888.  

YES,  THERE  IS  PARDON  FOR  YOU. 

O  COME  to  the  Saviour,  believe  in  His  name, 
And  ask  Him  your  heart  to  renew ; 

He  waits  to  be  gracious  ;  O  turn  not  away, 
For  now  there  is  pardon  for  you. 

The  way  of  transgression  that  leads  unto  death, 

O,  why  will  you  longer  pursue  ? 
How  can  you  reject  the  sweet  message  of  love 

That  offers  full  pardon  for  you  ? 

Be  warned  of  your  danger ;  escape  to  the  cross  ; 

Your  only  salvation  is  there  ; 
Believe,  and  that  moment  the  Spirit  of  grace 

Will  answer  your  penitent  prayer. 
1875. 


152  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN. 

JOY !  joy !  joy !  there  is  joy  in  heaven  with  the 
angels ; 

Joy  !  joy  !  joy  !  for  the  prodigal's  return ; 
He  has  come,  he  has  come 

To  his  Father's  house  at  last ; 
He  was  lost,  he  is  found, 

And  the  night  of  gloom  is  past. 
Blessed  hour  of  joy  and  communion  sweet, 
For  his  heart  is  full  and  his  love  complete  ; 
His  Father  sees  him  and  hastes  to  meet, 

And  bid  him  welcome  home. 

Chorus : 
Joy !  joy !  joy !  there  is  joy  in  heaven  with  the 

angels ; 
Joy  !  joy !  joy !  for  the  prodigal's  return ! 

Joy !  joy !  joy !  in  the  courts  of  heaven  resounding; 

Joy !  joy  !  joy !  o'er  the  prodigal's  return ; 
Hark !  the  song,  hark  !  the  song, 

'Tis  a  joyful,  joyful  strain  ; 
Welcome  home,  welcome  home 

To  thy  Father's  house  again. 
While  his  eye  is  dim  with  the  falling  tears 
Of  repentant  grief  over  wasted  years, 
The  pardoning  voice  of  his  Father  cheers, 

And  bids  him  welcome  home. 


HYMNS.  153 

Joy !  joy !  joy !  in  the  radiant  fields  of  glory ; 

Joy !  joy  !  joy !  when  a  wandering  soul  returns; 
Let  us  haste,  let  us  haste, 

While  the  morning  sun  is  bright ; 
Jesus  calls,  Jesus  calls 

To  a  land  of  love  and  light. 
We  will  journey  on  till  our  pilgrim  feet 
Shall  be  found  at  last  in  the  golden  street ; 
Our  glorious  Saviour  will  smile  to  greet, 

And  bid  us  welcome  home. 
1867. 


154  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

MORE  LIKE  JESUS. 

MORE  like  Jesus  would  I  be ; 
Let  my  Saviour  dwell  with  me, 
Fill  my  soul  with  peace  and  love, 
Make  me  gentle  as  the  dove ; 
More  like  Jesus  while  I  go, 
Pilgrim  in  this  world  below; 
Poor  in  spirit  would  I  be — 
Let  my  Saviour  dwell  in  me. 

If  He  hears  the  raven's  cry, 
If  His  ever-watchful  eye 
Marks  the  sparrows  when  they  fall, 
Surely  He  will  hear  my  call ; 
He  will  teach  me  how  to  live, 
All  my  sinful  thoughts  forgive ; 
Pure  in  heart  I  still  would  be — 
Let  my  Saviour  dwell  in  me. 

More  like  Jesus  when  I  pray, 
More  like  Jesus  day  by  day, 
May  I  rest  me  by  His  side, 
Where  the  tranquil  waters  glide ; 
Born  of  Him,  through  grace  renewed, 
By  His  love  my  will  subdued, 
Rich  in  faith  I  still  would  be — 
Let  my  Saviour  dwell  in  me. 
1867. 


HYMNS.  155 


JESUS,  DEAR,  I  COME  TO  THEE. 

JESUS  dear,  I  come  to  Thee, 

Thou  hast  said  I  may  ; 
Tell  me  what  my  life  should  be. 

Take  my  sins  away ; 
Jesus  dear,  I  learn  of  Thee 

In  Thy  word  divine ; 
Every  promise  there  I  see, 

May  I  call  it  mine. 

Jesus  dear,  I  long  for  Thee, 

Long  Thy  peace  to  know  ; 
Grant  those  purer  joys  to  me 

Earth  can  ne'er  bestow ; 
Jesus  dear,  I  cling  to  Thee  ; 

When  my  heart  is  sad, 
Thou  wilt  kindly  speak  to  me, 

Thou  wilt  make  me  glad. 

Jesus  dear,  I  trust  in  Thee, 

Trust  Thy  tender  love  ; 
There's  a  happy  home  for  me 

With  Thy  saints  above  ; 
Jesus,  I  would  come  to  Thee, 

Thou  hast  said  I  may ; 
Tell  me  what  my  life  should  be, 

Take  my  sins  away. 
1867. 


156  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


SAFE  IN  THE  ARMS  OF  JESUS. 

SAFE  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  on  His  gentle  breast, 
There  by  His  love  o'ershaded, 

Sweetly  my  soul  shall  rest. 
Hark  !  'tis  the  voice  of  angels, 

Borne  in  a  song  to  me, 
Over  the  fields  of  glory, 

Over  the  jasper  sea. 

Chorus  : 

Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  on  His  gentle  breast, 
There  by  His  love  o'ershaded, 

Sweetly  my  soul  shall  rest. 

Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  from  corroding  care, 
Safe  from  the  world's  temptations, 

Sin  cannot  harm  me  there. 
Free  from  the  blight  of  sorrow, 

Free  from  my  doubts  and  fears ; 
Only  a  few  more  trials, 

Only  a  few  more  tears  ! 

Jesus,  my  heart's  dear  refuge, 

Jesus  has  died  for  me ; 
Firm  on  the  Rock  of  Ages 

Ever  my  trust  shall  be. 


HYMNS.  157 

Here  let  me  wait  with  patience, 
Wait  till  the  night  is  o'er; 

Wait  till  I  see  the  morning 

Break  on  the  golden  shore. 
1868. 


LET  THE  GOOD  ANGELS  COME  IN. 

THEY  hover  around  us,  bright  angels  are  near, 

To  glory  immortal  they  win ; 
Then  gladly  we'll  open  the  door  of  our  hearts, 

And  let  the  good  angels  come  in ; 
How  kindly  our  Father  has  sent  them  to  keep 

A  watch  o'er  His  children  below ; 
They're  with  us  in  slumber,  their  eyes  never  sleep, 

They're  with  us  wherever  we  go. 

Refrain  : 

Let  them  come  in,  let  them  come  in, 
Let  the  good  angels  come  in. 

To  comfort  the  lonely,  and  strengthen  the  weak, 

Their  mission  of  mercy  and  love ; 
And  oft  on  their  beautiful  pinions  of  light 

They  bear  our  petitions  above  ; 
O  let  them  come  in,  they  are  holy  and  pure, 

Their  presence  how  tenderly  sweet : 
They  echo  the  song  of  the  happy  and  blest, 

They  learn  at  Immanuel's  feet. 
1867. 


158  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


PASS  ME  NOT. 

PASS  me  not,  O  gentle  Saviour, 

Hear  my  humble  cry  ; 
While  on  others  Thou  art  smiling, 

Do  not  pass  me  by. 

Chorus  : 

Saviour,  Saviour, 

Hear  my  humble  cry. 
While  on  others  Thou  art  calling, 

Do  not  pass  me  by. 

Let  me  at  a  throne  of  mercy 

Find  a  sweet  relief; 
Kneeling  there  in  deep  contrition, 

Help  my  unbelief. 

Trusting  only  in  Thy  merit, 
Would  I  seek  Thy  face  ; 

Heal  my  wounded,  broken  spirit, 
Save  me  by  Thy  grace. 

Thou  the  Spring  of  all  my  comfort, 

More  than  life  to  me, 
Whom  have  I  on  earth  beside  Thee? 

Whom  in  heaven  but  Thee  ? 
1868. 


HYMNS.  159 


I  COME  TO  THEE. 

I  COME  to  Thee,  I  come  to  Thee, 
Thou  precious  Lamb  once  slain  for  me ; 
I  rest  confiding  in  Thy  word, 
And  "cast  my  burden  on  the  Lord." 
I  come  to  Thee  with  all  my  grief; 
Dear  Saviour,  help  my  unbelief; 
Thy  blessed  name  my  only  plea, 
With  this,  O  Lord,  I  come  to  Thee. 

I  come  to  Thee,  whose  sovereign  power 
Can  cheer  me  in  the  darkest  hour ; 
I  come  to  Thee,  through  storm  and  shade, 
For  Thou  hast  said,  "  Be  not  afraid." 
I  come  to  Thee  with  all  my  tears, 
My  pain  and  sorrow,  doubts  and  fears ; 
Thou  precious  Lamb,  once  slain  for  me, 
I  come  to  Thee,  I  come  to  Thee. 

To  Thee  my  trembling  spirit  flies 

When  faith  grows  weak  and  comfort  dies ; 

I  bow  adoring  at  Thy  feet, 

And  hold  with  Thee  communion  sweet. 

0  wondrous  love,  O  joy  divine, 

To  feel  Thee  near  and  call  Thee  mine ! 
Thou  precious  Lamb,  once  slain  for  me, 

1  come  to  Thee,  I  come  to  Thee. 
1868. 


160  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


RESCUE  THE  PERISHING. 

RESCUE  the  perishing, 

Care  for  the  dying, 
Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave ; 

Weep  o'er  the  erring  one, 

Lift  up  the  fallen, 
Tell  them  of  Jesus,  the  mighty  to  save. 

Chorus  : 

Rescue  the  perishing, 
Care  for  the  dying ; 
Jesus  is  merciful, 
Jesus  will  save. 

Though  they  are  slighting  Him, 

Still  He  is  waiting, 
Waiting  the  penitent  child  to  receive ; 

Plead  with  them  earnestly, 

Plead  with  them  gently ; 
He  will  forgive  if  they  only  believe. 

Down  in  the  human  heart, 

Crushed  by  the  tempter, 
Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore ; 

Touched  by  a  loving  heart, 

Wakened  by  kindness, 
Chords  that  were  broken  will  vibrate  once  more. 


HYMNS.  161 

Rescue  the  perishing ; 

Duty  demands  it ; 
Strength  for  thy  labor  the  Lord  will  provide  ; 

Back  to  the  narrow  way 

Patiently  win  them ; 

Tell  the  poor  wanderer  a  Saviour  has  died. 
1869. 


TWILL  NOT  BE  LONG. 

'TWILL  not  be  long,  our  journey  here  ; 
Each  broken  sigh  and  falling  tear 
Will  soon  be  gone,  and  all  will  be 
A  cloudless  sky,  a  waveless  sea. 

'Twill  not  be  long ;  the  yearning  heart 
May  feel  its  every  hope  depart, 
And  grief  be  mingled  with  its  song ; 
We'll  meet  again  ;  'twill  not  be  long. 

Though  sad  we  mark  the  closing  eye 
Of  those  we  loved  in  days  gone  by, 
Yet  sweet  in  death  their  latest  song — 
We'll  meet  again  ;  'twill  not  be  long. 

These  checkered  wilds,  with  thorns  o'erspread, 
Through  which  our  way  so  oft  is  led— 
This  march  of  time,  with  truth  so  strong, 
Will  end  in  bliss  ;  'twill  not  be  long. 
1868. 


162  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


STRIKE  THE   HARP  OF  ZION. 

STRIKE  the  harp  of  Zion,  wake  the  tuneful  lay, 
Bear  the  joyful  tidings  far  away  ; 
Lo  !  the  morn  is  breaking,  morn  of  purest  love  ; 
Praise  forever,  praise  to  God  above. 

Chorus : 

Glory  !  glory !  hark !  the  angels  sing ; 
Glory  !  glory !  hear  the  echo  ring ; 
Strike  the  harp  of  Zion,  wake  the  tuneful  lay, 
Bear  the  joyful  tidings  far  away. 

Over  distant  regions  veiled  in  error's  night, 
See  the  holy  dawn  of  Gospel  light ; 
See  the  nations  coming  at  the  Saviour's  call, 
Coming  now  to  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

O  the  joyful  story,  life  to  every  soul ! 
Like  a  mighty  ocean  let  it  roll, 
Bringing  home  the  lost  ones  from  the  path  of  sin, 
Till  the  world  shall  all  be  gathered  in. 
1869. 


HYMNS.  163 


HOLY  IS  THE  LORD. 

HOLY,  holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  ! 

Sing,  O  ye  people,  gladly  adore  Him ; 
Let  the  mountains  tremble  at  His  word, 

Let  the  hills  be  joyful  before  Him ; 
Mighty  in  wisdom,  boundless  in  mercy, 

Great  is  Jehovah,  King  over  all. 

Chorus : 

Holy,  holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  ! 
Let  the  hills  be  joyful  before  Him. 

Praise  Him,  praise  Him,  shout  aloud  for  joy ! 

Watchman  of  Zion,  herald  the  story ; 
Sin  and  death  His  kingdom  shall  destroy  ; 

All  the  earth  shall  sing  of  His  glory  ; 
Praise  Him,  ye  angels,  ye  who  behold  Him 

Robed  in  His  splendor,  matchless,  divine. 

King  eternal,  blessed  be  His  name ! 

So  may  His  children  gladly  adore  Him, 
When  in  heaven  we  join  the  happy  strain, 

When  we  cast  our  bright  crowns  before  Him ; 
There  in  His  likeness  joyful  awaking, 

There  we  shall  see  Him,  there  we  shall  sing. 
1869. 


164  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

KEEP  THOU  MY  WAY,  O  LORD. 

KEEP  thou  my  way,  O  Lord  ; 

Myself  I  cannot  guide  ; 
Nor  dare  I  trust  my  erring  steps 

One  moment  from  Thy  side  ; 
I  cannot  think  aright, 

Unless  inspired  by  Thee  ; 
My  heart  would  faint  without  Thy  aid ; 

Choose  Thou  my  thoughts  for  me. 

For  every  act  of  faith, 

And  every  pure  design, — 
For  all  of  good  my  soul  can  know, 

The  glory,  Lord,  be  Thine ; 
Free  grace  my  pardon  seals, 

Thro'  Thy  atoning  blood  ; 
Free  grace  the  full  assurance  brings 

Of  peace  with  Thee,  my  God. 

O  speak,  and  I  will  hear ; 

Command,  and  I  obey  ; 
My  willing  feet  with  joy  will  haste 

To  run  the  heavenly  way ; 
Keep  Thou  my  wandering  heart, 

And  bid  it  cease  to  roam  ; 
O  bear  me  safe  o'er  death's  cold  wave 

To  heaven,  my  blissful  home. 
1869. 


HYMNS.  165 


SING  ALWAYS. 

SING  with  a  tuneful  spirit, 

Sing  with  a  cheerful  lay, 
Praise  to  thy  great  Creator, 

While  on  the  pilgrim  way. 
Sing  when  the  birds  are  waking, 

Sing  with  the  morning  light ; 
Sing  in  the  noontide's  golden  beam, 

Sing  in  the  hush  of  night. 

Sing  when  the  heart  is  troubled, 

Sing  when  the  hours  are  long, 
Sing  when  the  storm-cloud  gathers ; 

Sweet  is  the  voice  of  song. 
Sing  when  the  sky  is  darkest, 

Sing  when  the  thunders  roll ; 
Sing  of  the  land  where  rest  remains, 

Rest  for  the  weary  soul. 

Sing  in  the  vale  of  shadows, 

Sing  in  the  hour  of  death, 
And,  when  the  eyes  are  closing, 

Sing  with  the  latest  breath. 
Sing  till  the  heart's  deep  longings 

Cease  on  the  other  shore  ; 
Then,  with  the  countless  numbers  there, 

Sing  on  for  evermore. 
1869. 


166  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


TO  JESUS  I  WILL  GO. 

THERE'S  a  gentle  voice  within  calls  away, 
'Tis  a  warning  I  have  heard  o'er  and  o'er; 

But  my  heart  is  melted  now ;  I  obey ; 

From  my  Saviour  I  will  wander  no  more. 

Chorus  : 

Yes,  I  will  go ;  yes,  I  will  go ; 
To  Jesus  I  will  go  and  be  saved. 

He  has  promised  all  my  sins  to  forgive, 
If  I  ask  in  simple  faith  for  His  love ; 

In  His  holy  word  I  learn  how  to  live, 
And  to  labor  for  His  kingdom  above. 

I  will  try  to  bear  the  cross  in  my  youth, 
And  be  faithful  to  its  cause  till  I  die ; 

If  with  cheerful  step  I  walk  in  the  truth, 
I  shall  wear  a  starry  crown  by  and  by. 

Still  the  gentle  voice  within  calls  away, 

And  its  warning  I  have  heard  o'er  and  o'er ; 

But  my  heart  is  melted  now  ;  I  obey ; 

From  my  Saviour  I  will  wander  no  more. 
1869. 


HYMNS.  167 


GREAT  IS  JEHOVAH. 

GREAT  is  Jehovah,  King  of  kings ; 

O  magnify  His  name; 
Praise  Him,  ye  nations  of  the  earth, 

His  mighty  works  proclaim  ; 
When  darkness  hovered  o'er  the  deep, 

And  all  was  veiled  in  night, 
At  His  command,  in  beauty  smiled 

A  morn  of  purest  light. 

Great  is  Jehovah,  King  of  kings ; 

The  stars  together  sang ; 
Sweetly  the  new  created  earth 

In  joyful  concert  rang; 
But  O,  our  souls  !  in  wonder  lost, 

Behold,  by  faith  sublime, 
In  man's  redemption  from  the  fall 

God's  greatest  wisdom  shine. 

Glory  to  Him  whose  boundless  love 

The  debt  of  sin  has  paid ; 
Glory  to  Him  whose  precious  blood 

Our  sacrifice  was  made  ; 
With  Him  we  die,  through  Him  we  rise ; 

To  Him  all  praise  be  given, 
Who  lives,  exalted  and  adored 

By  all  the  hosts  of  heaven. 
1871. 


168  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


THE  BRIGHT  FOREVER. 

BREAKING  through  the  clouds  that  gather 

O'er  the  Christian's  natal  skies, 
Distant  beams,  like  floods  of  glory, 

Fill  the  soul  with  glad  surprise ; 
And  we  almost  hear  the  echo 

Of  the  pure  and  holy  throng, 
In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 

In  the  summer-land  of  song. 

Chorus : 

On  the  banks  beyond  the  river, 

We  shall  meet,  no  more  to  sever, 
In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 

In  the  summer-land  of  song. 

Yet  a  little  while  we  linger, 

Ere  we  reach  our  journey's  end  ; 
Yet  a  little  while  of  labor, 

Ere  the  evening  shades  descend  ; 
Then  we'll  lay  us  down  to  slumber, 

But  the  night  will  soon  be  o'er; 
In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 

We  shall  slumber  nevermore. 

O  the  bliss  of  life  eternal ! 

O  the  long,  unbroken  rest 
In  the  golden  fields  of  pleasure, 

In  the  region  of  the  blest ! 


HYMNS.  169 

But  to  see  our  dear  Redeemer, 
And  before  His  throne  to  fall, 

There  to  hear  His  gracious  welcome, 
Will  be  sweeter  far  than  all. 

lo/I. 


NEAR  THE  CROSS. 

JESUS,  keep  me  near  the  Cross  ; 

There  a  precious  fountain, 
Free  to  all,  a  healing  stream, 

Flows  from  Calvary's  mountain. 
Chorus: 

In  the  Cross,  in  the  Cross, 

Be  my  glory  ever, 
Till  my  raptured  soul  shall  find 

Rest  beyond  the  river. 
Near  the  Cross,  a  trembling  soul, 

Love  and  mercy  found  me ; 
There  the  Bright  and  Morning  Star 

Shed  its  beams  around  me. 
Near  the  Cross  !  O  Lamb  of  God, 

Bring  its  scenes  before  me  ; 
Help  me  walk  from  day  to  day, 

With  its  shadow  o'er  me. 
Near  the  Cross  I'll  watch  and  wait, 

Hoping,  trusting  ever, 
Till  I  reach  the  golden  strand, 
™        Just  beyond  the  river. 


170  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


BLESSED  ASSURANCE. 

BLESSED  assurance,  Jesus  is  mine  ! 

0  what  a  foretaste  of  glory  divine ! 
Heir  of  salvation,  purchase  of  God, 
Born  of  His  Spirit,  washed  in  His  blood ! 

Chorus  : 

This  is  my  story,  this  is  my  song, 
Praising  my  Saviour  all  the  day  long. 

Perfect  submission,  perfect  delight, 
Visions  of  rapture  now  burst  on  my  sight ; 
Angels  descending  bring  from  above 
Echoes  of  mercy,  whispers  of  love. 

Perfect  submission,  all  is  at  rest, 

1  in  my  Saviour  am  happy  and  blest, — 
Watching  and  waiting,  looking  above, 
Filled  with  His  goodness,  lost  in  His  love. 

1873- 


HYMNS.  171 


ONLY  A  STEP  TO  JESUS. 

ONLY  a  step  to  Jesus ! 

Then  why  not  take  it  now  ? 
Come,  and,  thy  sin  confessing, 

To  Him,  thy  Saviour,  bow. 

Refrain  : 

Only  a  step,  only  a  step ; 

Come,  He  waits  for  thee ; 
Come,  and,  thy  sin  confessing, 

Thou  shalt  receive  a  blessing ; 
Do  not  reject  the  mercy 

He  freely  offers  thee. 

Only  a  step  to  Jesus ! 

Believe,  and  thou  shalt  live  ; 
Lovingly  now  He  is  waiting, 

And  ready  to  forgive. 

Only  a  step  to  Jesus  ! 

A  step  from  sin  to  grace  ; 
What  has  thy  heart  decided  ? 

The  moments  fly  apace. 

Only  a  step  to  Jesus ! 

0  why  not  come  and  say, 
Gladly  to  Thee,  my  Saviour, 

1  give  myself  away? 
1873- 


172  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


GOD  OF  ETERNITY. 

GOD  of  eternity,  Author  of  time, 

Giver  and  Source  of  life,  Ruler  sublime,— 

Thou  uncreated  Lord,  Ancient  of  Days, 
Glorious  in  holiness,  fearful  in  praise, — 

Chorus  : 

High  over  all  Thy  works,  blest  evermore, 
God  of  the  universe,  Thee  we  adore. 

Wondrous  in  majesty,  wisdom  and  might, 
Lo !  'twas  Thy  voice  that  said,  "  Let  there  be 

light;" 

Vast  realms  and   numberless,  Lord,  are  Thy 
•    own ; 

Nations   and   sceptered   kings  bow  at  Thy 
throne. 

Thine  is  a  perfect  law,  Thy  word  is  pure ; 
Righteous  are  all  Thy  ways,  Thy  judgments 

sure; 
Mercy  and  truth  abide  ever  with  Thee ; 

Love  like  a  river  flows,  deep  as  the  sea. 
1873- 


HYMNS.  173 


NEARER  THE  CROSS. 

"  NEARER  the  cross  !  "  my  heart  can  say, 

I  am  coming  nearer ; 
Nearer  the  cross  from  day  to  day, 

I  am  coming  nearer ; 
Nearer  the  cross  where  Jesus  died, 
Nearer  the  fountain's  crimson  tide, 
Nearer  my  Saviour's  wounded  side, 

I  am  coming  nearer. 

Nearer  the  Christian's  mercy  seat, 

I  am  coming  nearer ; 
Feasting  my  soul  on  manna  sweet, 

I  am  coming  nearer ; 
Stronger  in  faith,  more  clear  I  see 
Jesus  who  gave  Himself  for  me  ; 
Nearer  to  Him  I  still  would  be ; 

Still  I'm  coming  nearer. 

Nearer  in  prayer  my  hope  aspires, 

I  am  coming  nearer ; 
Deeper  the  love  my  soul  desires, 

I  am  coming  nearer; 
Nearer  the  end  of  toil  and  care, 
Nearer  the  joy  I  long  to  share, 
Nearer  the  crown  I  soon  shall  wear, 

I  am  coming  nearer. 
1873- 


174  HYMNS. 


HOLD  THOU  MY  HAND. 

HOLD  Thou  my  hand  ;  so  weak  I  am,  and  helpless, 
I  dare  not  take  one  step  without  Thy  aid  ; 

Hold  Thou  my  hand  ;  for  then,  O  loving  Saviour, 
No  dread  of  ill  shall  make  my  soul  afraid. 

Hold  Thou  my  hand,  and  closer,  closer  draw  me 
To  Thy  dear  self — my  hope,  my  joy,  my  all ; 

Hold  Thou  my  hand,  lest  haply  I  should  wander, 
And,  missing  Thee,  my  trembling  feet  should 
fall. 

Hold  Thou  my  hand  ;  the  way  is  dark  before  me 
Without  the  sunlight  of  Thy  face  divine ; 

But  when  by  faith  I  catch  its  radiant  glory, 
What  heights  of  joy,  what  rapturous  songs,  are 


Hold  Thou  my  hand,  that  when  I  reach  the  mar- 
gin 

Of  that  lone  river  Thou  didst  cross  for  me, 
A  heavenly  light  may  flash  along  its  waters, 

And  every  wave  like  crystal  bright  shall  be. 
1874. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  175 


CLOSE  TO  THEE. 

THOU,  my  everlasting  portion, 
More  than  friend  or  life  to  me, 

All  along  my  pilgrim  journey, 
Saviour,  let  me  walk  with  Thee. 

Close  to  Thee,  close  to  Thee ; 

All  along  my  pilgrim  journey, 
Saviour,  let  me  walk  with  Thee. 

Not  for  ease  or  worldly  pleasure, 
Nor  for  fame,  my  prayer  shall  be ; 

Gladly  will  I  toil  and  suffer, 
Only  let  me  walk  with  Thee. 

Close  to  Thee,  close  to  Thee ; 
Gladly  will  I  toil  and  suffer, 
Only  let  me  walk  with  Thee. 

Lead  me  through  the  vale  of  shadows, 
Bear  me  o'er  life's  fitful  sea  ; 

Then  the  gate  of  life  eternal 
May  I  enter,  Lord,  with  Thee. 

Close  to  Thee,  close  to  Thee  ; 

Then  the  gate  of  life  eternal 

May  I  enter,  Lord,  with  Thee. 


176  HYMNS. 


EVERY  DAY  AND  HOUR. 

SAVIOUR,  more  than  life  to  me, 
I  am  clinging  close  to  Thee ; 
Let  Thy  precious  blood  applied 
Keep  me  ever  near  Thy  side. 

Chorus : 

Every  day,  every  hour, 
Let  me  feel  Thy  cleansing  power  • 
May  Thy  tender  love  to  me 
Bind  me  closer,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Through  this  changing  world  below, 
Lead  me  gently  as  I  go ; 
Trusting  Thee,  I  cannot  stray, 
I  can  never  lose  my  way. 

Let  me  love  Thee  more  and  more, 
Till  this  fleeting  life  is  o'er  ; 
Till  my  soul  is  lost  in  love, 
In  a  brighter  world  above. 
1874. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  177 


LIKE  THE  SOUND  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

LIKE  the  sound  of  many  waters 
Rolling  on  through  ages  long, 

In  a  tide  of  rapture  breaking, — 
Hark !  the  mighty  choral  song ! 

Chorus : 

Hallelujah  !   Hallelujah ! 

Let  the  heavenly  portals  ring ; 
Christ  is  born,  the  Prince  of  glory, 

Christ  the  Lord,  our  mighty  King. 

Lo,  the  Morning  Star  appeareth, 
O'er  the  world  His  beams  are  cast ; 

He  the  Alpha  and  Omega, 
He  the  Great,  the  First,  the  Last. 

Clap  your  hands  with  exultation ; 

Sing  aloud,  rejoice  with  mirth ; 
Peace  her  silver  wings  hath  folded, — 

Lo,  she  comes  to  dwell  on  earth. 

Saviour,  not  with  costly  treasure 
Do  we  gather  at  Thy  throne ; 

All  we  have,  our  hearts,  we  give  Thee, — 

Consecrate  them  Thine  alone. 
1874- 


178  HYMNS. 


SHOUT  ALOUD,  ALL  YE  LANDS. 

ACROSS  the  blue  waters  the  message  of  grace 
O'er  kingdom  and  empire  is  flying  apace  ; 
The  day-beam  is  breaking,  majestic  and  bright, 
And  millions  are  turning  from  darkness  to  light. 

Chorus : 

Shout  aloud,  all  ye  lands,  and  be  glad  while  ye  sing ; 
Shout  aloud,  all  ye  lands,  for  the  Saviour  is  King  ! 
And  the  sound  that  went  forth  on  the  night  of 

His  birth 

Shall  be  heard  to  the  uttermost  bounds  of  the 
earth. 

All  creatures  adoring  shall  bow  at  His  word, 
All  tongues  shall  confess  Him  their  Saviour  and 

Lord; 

His  truth  and  its  glory  extended  shall  be, 
And  cover  the  earth  as  the  waters  the  sea. 

How  gently  and  kindly  there  comes  from  above 
His  scepter  of  mercy,  His  standard  of  love  ! 
He  ruleth  in  wisdom,  the  Monarch  of  peace, 
His  reign  shall  be  glorious,  and  never  shall  cease. 

The  day  is  approaching,  the  time  draweth  nigh, 
When  nation  to  nation  "  Hosanna!  "  shall  cry  ; 
The  idols  they  worship  in  dust  shall  be  laid, 
And  Jesus  be  honored,  exalted,  obeyed. 
1875. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  179 


NEVER  SHONE  A  LIGHT  SO  FAIR. 

NEVER  shone  a  light  so  fair, 
Never  fell  so  sweet  a  song, 
As  the  chorus  in  the  air 

Chanted  by  the  angel-throng  ; 
Every  star  took  up  the  story  : 
Christ  has  come,  the  Prince  of  glory, 
Come  in  humble  hearts  to  dwell, 
God  with  us,  Immanuel. 

Still  that  jubilee  of  song 
Breaks  upon  the  rising  morn  ; 

While  the  anthem  rolls  along, 
Floods  of  light  the  earth  adorn  ; 

Old  and  young  take  up  the  story  : 

Christ  has  come,  etc. 

Welcome  now  the  blessed  day 

When  we  praise  the  Lord  our  King  ; 

When  we  meet  to  praise  and  pray, 
And  His  love  with  gladness  sing; 

Let  the  world  take  up  the  story : 

Christ  has  come,  etc. 
1875. 


180  HYMNS. 


I  AM  THINE,  O  LORD. 

I  AM  Thine,  O  Lord,  I  have  heard  Thy  voice, 

And  it  told  Thy  love  to  me  ; 
But  I  long  to  rise  in  the  arms  of  faith, 

And  be  closer  drawn  to  Thee. 

Chorus  : 
Draw  me  nearer,  nearer,  blessed  Lord, 

To  the  cross  where  Thou  hast  died  ; 
Draw  me  nearer,  nearer,  nearer,  blessed  Lord, 

To  Thy  precious  bleeding  side. 

Consecrate  me  now  to  Thy  service,  Lord, 

By  the  power  of  grace  divine ; 
Let  my  soul  look  up  with  a  steadfast  hope, 

And  my  will  be  lost  in  Thine. 

O  the  pure  delight  of  a  single  hour 

That  before  Thy  throne  I  spend, 
When  I  kneel  in  prayer,  and  with  Thee,  my  God, 

I  commune  as  friend  with  friend  ! 

There  are  depths  of  love  that  I  cannot  know 

Till  I  cross  the  narrow  sea, 
There  are  heights  of  joy  that  I  may  not  reach 

Till  I  rest  in  peace  with  Thee. 
1875. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  181 


ALL  THE  WAY. 

ALL  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me ; 

What  have  I  to  ask  beside  ? 
Can  I  doubt  His  tender  mercy, 

Who  through  life  has  been  my  guide  ? 
Heavenly  peace,  divinest  comfort, 

Here  by  faith  in  Him  to  dwell ! 
For  I  know,  whate'er  befall  me, 

Jesus  doeth  all  things  well. 

All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me, 

Cheers  each  winding  path  I  tread  ; 
Gives  me  grace  for  every  trial, 

Feeds  me  with  the  living  bread  ; 
Though  my  weary  steps  may  falter, 

And  my  soul  athirst  may  be, 
Gushing  from  the  Rock  before  me, 

Lo,  a  spring  of  joy  I  see. 

All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me ; 

O  the  fullness  of  His  love  ! 
Perfect  rest  to  me  is  promised 

In  my  Father's  house  above  ; 
When  my  spirit,  clothed,  immortal, 

Wings  its  flight  to  realms  of  day, 
This  my  song  through  endless  ages — 

Jesus  led  me  all  the  way. 
1875. 


182  HYMNS. 


SO  NEAR  TO  THE  KINGDOM. 

So  near  to  the  kingdom  !  yet  what  dost  thou  lack  ? 
So  near  to  the  kingdom  !  what  keepeth  thee  back  ? 
Renounce  every  idol,  though  dear  it  may  be, 
And  come  to  the  Saviour  now  pleading  with  thee. 

Refrain  : 

Pleading  with  thee, 

The  Saviour  is  pleading  with  thee. 

So  near  that  thou  hearest  the  songs  that  resound 
From  those  who,  believing,  a  pardon  have  found  ! 
So  near,  yet  unwilling  to  give  up  thy  sin, 
When  Jesus  is  waiting  to  welcome  thee  in  ! 

O  come,  or  thy  season  of  grace  will  be  past, 
The  door  will  be  closed,  and  this  call  be  thy  last ; 
O  where  wouldst  thou  turn  if  the  light  should 

depart 
That  comes  from  the  Spirit,' and  shines  on  thy 

heart  ? 

To  die  with  no  hope !  hast  thou  counted    the 

cost  ? 

To  die  out  of  Christ,  and  thy  soul  to  be  lost ! 
So  near  to  the  kingdom  !  O  come,  we  implore, 
While  Jesus  is  pleading,  come  enter  the  door. 
1875. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  183 


HIDE  THOU  ME. 

IN  Thy  cleft,  O  Rock  of  Ages, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
When  the  fitful  tempest  rages, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 

Where  no  mortal  arm  can  sever 
From  my  heart  Thy  love  forever, 
Hide  me,  O  thou  Rock  of  Ages, 

Safe  in  Thee. 

From  the  snare  of  sinful  pleasure, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
Thou,  my  soul's  eternal  treasure, 

Hide  Thou  me  ; 

When  the  world  its  power  is  wielding, 
And  my  heart  is  almost  yielding, 
Hide  me,  O  Thou  Rock  of  Ages, 

Safe  in  Thee. 

In  the  lonely  night  of  sorrow, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
Till  in  glory  dawns  the  morrow, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
In  the  sight  of  Jordan's  billow, 
Let  Thy  bosom  be  my  pillow ; 
Hide  me,  O  Thou  Rock  of  Ages, 

Safe  in  Thee. 
1876. 


184  HYMNS. 


BY  AND  BY. 

BY  and  by,  when  the  reapers  come, 
And  we  hear  the  song  of  the  harvest  home, 
'Twill  be  sweet  to  think  of  our  labor  done, 
Of  the  golden  sheaves  in  the  setting  sun. 

Refrain : 

By  and  by,  when  the  angel  reapers  come, 
We  shall  join  the  song  of  the  harvest  home ; 
O  by  and  by,  when  the  angel  reapers  come, 
We  shall  join  the  song  of  the  harvest  home. 

By  and  by,  when  at  home  we  meet, 

When  we  cast  our  sheaves  at  the  Master's  feet, 

In  the  land  of  rest  'twill  be  joy  to  know 

It  was  not  in  vain  that  we  toiled  below. 

By  and  by,  if  we  watch  and  wait, 
We  shall  enter  in  at  the  pearly  gate  ; 
We  shall  sit  us  down  with  our  friends  above, 
'Mid  the  songs  of  joy  in  a  feast  of  love. 
1876. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  185 


BLESSED  HOME-LAND. 

GLIDING  o'er  life's  fitful  waters, 
Heavy  surges  sometimes  roll ; 

And  we  sigh  for  yonder  haven, 
For  the  home-land  of  the  soul. 

Refrain  : 

Blessed  home-land,  ever  fair ! 
Sin  can  never  enter  there ; 
But  the  soul,  to  life  awaking, 
Everlasting  bloom  shall  wear. 

Oft  we  catch  a  faint  reflection 
Of  its  bright  and  vernal  hills ; 

And,  though  distant,  how  we  hail  it ! 
How  each  heart  with  rapture  thrills ! 

To  our  Father,  and  our  Saviour, 
To  the  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 

We  shall  sing  glad  songs  of  triumph 
When  our  harvest  work  is  done. 

'Tis  the  weary  pilgrim's  home-land, 
Where  each  throbbing  care  shall  cease, 

And  our  longings  and  our  yearnings, 

Like  the  waves,  be  hushed  to  peace. 
1877. 


186  HYMNS. 


THIS  I  KNOW. 

LORD,  my  trust  I  repose  in  Thee ; 

0  how  great  is  Thy  love  to  me ! 
Thou  the  strength  of  my  life  shall  be ; 

This  I  know,  this  I  know. 

Refrain  : 

Thine,  Thine,  and  only  Thine, 
Now  and  ever  Thine  ; 
Thou  dost  love  me,  Saviour  mine ; 
This  I  know,  this  I  know. 

Thou  dost  lead  with  a  sweet  command, 
Thou  dost  lead  with  a  gentle  hand  ; 
On  the  rock  of  Thy  truth  I  stand  ; 
This  I  know,  this  I  know. 

1  shall  rise  to  a  world  of  light, 

I  shall  rest  in  a  mansion  bright ; 
Then  my  faith  shall  be  lost  in  sight ; 

This  I  know,  this  I  know. 
1877. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  187 


LEARN  OF  THE  MEEK  AND  LOWLY. 

COME,  learn  of  the  meek  and  lowly  ; 

Come,  sit  at  the  Master's  feet ; 
No  place  in  the  world  so  holy, 

No  place  in  the  world  so  sweet ; 
His  lessons  are  plain  and  simple, 

A  balm  to  the  wounded  breast ; 
He  maketh  our  burden  lighter, 

And  giveth  His  children  rest. 

O  if  we  were  more  like  Jesus, 

And  more  from  the  world  apart, 
Communing  with  Him  in  spirit, 

And  nearer  to  Him  in  heart, — 
We  should  not  complain  so  sadly 

When  trouble  and  care  we  meet, 
But  carry  at  once  our  sorrows, 

And  lay  them  at  Jesus'  feet. 

He  wept  o'er  the  holy  city, 

He  wept  o'er  a  loved  one  dead  ; 
He  knoweth  our  every  trial, 

And  seeth  the  tears  we  shed  ; 
O  live  that  our  souls  may  enter 

His  kingdom  with  joy  complete ; 
And  there,  thro'  eternal  ages, 

We'll  sit  at  the  Master's  feet, 
1877. 


188  HYMNS. 


PARTING  HYMN. 

HEAVENLY  Father,  we  beseech  Thee, 
Grant  Thy  blessing  ere  we  part ; 

Take  us  in  Thy  care  and  keeping, 
Guard  from  evil  every  heart. 

Chorus : 

Bless  the  words  we  here  have  spoken, 
Offered  prayer  and  cheerful  strain ; 
If  Thy  will,  O  Lord,  we  pray  Thee, 
Grant  we  all  may  meet  again. 

Loving  Saviour,  go  Thou  with  us, 
Be  our  comfort  and  our  stay; 

Grateful  praise  to  Thee  we  render 
For  the  joy  we  feel  to-day. 

Holy  Spirit,  dwell  within  us, 
May  our  souls  Thy  temple  be ; 

May  we  tread  the  path  to  glory, 
Led  and  guided  still  by  Thee. 

Heavenly  Father,  loving  Saviour, 

Holy  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 
As  among  Thy  saints  and  angels, 
So  on  earth,  Thy  will  be  done. 
1878. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  189 


'TIS  THE  BLESSED  HOUR  OF  PRAYER. 

'TIS    the   blessed    hour  of    prayer,   when    our 

hearts  lowly  bend, 

And  we  gather  to  Jesus,  our  Saviour  and  Friend  ; 
If  we  come  to  Him  in  faith,  His  protection  to  share, 
What  a  balm  for  the  weary !  O  how  sweet  to  be 

there! 

Chorus  : 

Blessed  hour  of  prayer,  blessed  hour  of  prayer ! 
xyhat  a  balm  for  the  weary !  O  how  sweet  to  be 
there ! 

'  Tis  the  blessed  hour  of  prayer,  when  the  Sav- 
iour draws  near, 

With  a  tender  compassion  His  children  to  hear  ; 

When  He  tells  us  we  may  cast  at  His  feet  every 
care, 

What  a  balm  for  the  weary !  O  how  sweet  to  be 
there ! 

'  Tis  the  blessed  hour  of  prayer,  when  the  tempted 
and  tried 

To  the  Saviour  who  loves  them  their  sorrow  con- 
fide; 

With  a  sympathizing  heart  He  removes  every  care ; 

What  a  balm  for  the  weary !  O  how  sweet  to  be 
there  J 

1880. 


190  HYMNS. 


WEARY  WANDERER,  STOP  AND 
LISTEN. 

WEARY  wanderer,  stop  and  listen; 

Happy  news  we  bring  to  thee ; 
Jesus  has  prepared  a  banquet ; 

Come,  and  welcome  thou  shalt  be. 

Chorus  : 

Make  no  longer  vain  excuses  ; 

Jesus  calls,  and  calls  thee  now ; 
Come,  for  everything  is  ready  ; 
Weary  soul,  why  waitest  thou  ? 

Are  thy  sins  a  heavy  burden  ? 

Come  to  God  ;  confess  them  now ; 
He  is  willing  to  forgive  thee ; 

Ask,  receive  ;  why  waitest  thou  ? 

On  the  loving  arm  of  Jesus 

Wouldst  thou  lean,  and  trust  Him  now  ? 
Let  Him  cleanse  thee  at  the  fountain ; 

Come  at  once ;  why  waitest  thou  ? 

See  the  beauteous  wedding  garment ; 

In  His  hands  He  holds  it  now  ; 
Haste,  O  haste  thee  to  the  banquet ; 

Enter  in ;  why  waitest  thou  ? 
1880. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  191 


I  KNOW  THERE'S  A  REST. 

I  KNOW  there's  a  rest  that  remaineth  for  me, 

A  rest  when  my  journey  is  o'er ; 
I  know  that  the  ransomed  in  bliss  I  shall  see, 

And  labor  and  sorrow  no  more. 

Chorus: 
Then  onward  I'll  go,  and  with  courage  I'll  tread 

The  path  my  Redeemer  has  trod, 
Since  He  hath  declared  there  remaineth  a  rest, 

A  rest  for  the  people  of  God. 

I  know  there's  a  rest  that  remaineth  for  me, 

A  rest  with  my  Saviour  above, 
Where,  clothed  in  His  image,  His  face  I  shall  see, 

And  feast  on  the  smile  of  His  love. 

I  know  there's  a  rest  that  remaineth  for  me ; 

I'll  patiently  wait  till  it  come, — 
Till  angels  shall  bear  me  away  on  their  wings, 

And  Jesus  shall  welcome  me  home. 
1881. 


192  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


A  FEW  MORE  MARCHINGS. 

A  FEW  more  marchings  weary, 

Then  we'll  gather  home ; 
A  few  more  storm-clouds  dreary, 

Then  we'll  gather  home ; 
A  few  more  days  the  cross  to  bear, 
And  then  with  Christ  a  crown  to  wear , 
A  few  more  marchings  weary, 

Then  we'll  gather  home. 

Refrain  : 

O'er  time's  rapid  river, 
Soon  we'll  rest  forever  ; 
No  more  marchings  weary 
When  we  gather  home. 

A  few  more  nights  of  weeping, 

Then  we'll  gather  home  ; 
A  few  more  watches  keeping, 

Then  we'll  gather  home; 
A  few  more  victories  over  sin, 
A  few  more  sheaves  to  gather  in, 
A  few  more  marchings  weary, 

Then  we'll  gather  home. 

A  few  more  sweet  links  broken, 

Then  we'll  gather  home ; 
A  few  more  kind  words  spoken, 

Then  we'll  gather  home ; 


HYMNS.  193 

A  few  more  partings  on  the  strand, 
And  then  away  to  Canaan's  land  ; 
A  few  more  marchings  weary, 

Then  we'll  gather  home. 
1882. 


NOT  ALWAY. 

NOT  alway  where  the  quiet  waters  flow 

My  Saviour  leads, 
Nor  where  the  sunlight  falls  with  tender  glow 

O'er  dewy  meads ; 

I  follow  where  He  will  my  path  should  be, 
Content  to  know  but  this  :  He  leadeth  me. 

He  from  my  cradle  watched  my  infant  years, 

And  chose  my  way  ; 
O  how  His  wisdom  in  my  life  appears 

From  day  to  day  ! 

Though  oft  my  journey  leads  through  shadows 
deep, 

I  fear  no  ill ; 
For,  lo,  He  gives  His  angels  charge  to  keep 

And  guard  me  still. 

Sometimes  I  falter,  and  the  way  seems  long 

To  yonder  land ; 
But  in  His  strength  made  perfect  I  am  strong ; 

He  holds  my  hand. 
1 8— . 


194  HYMNS. 

WELLS  OF  ELIM. 

COOL  from  the  wells  of  Elim, 

Softly  the  waters  bright, 
Under  the  waving  palm  trees, 

Smiled  in  the  peaceful  light ; 
There  were  the  tents  so  goodly, 

There  was  a  nation  strong, 
Resting  awhile  by  Elim's  wells, 

Praising  the  Lord  in  song. 
Chorus : 

O  how  a  soul  in  Jesus 

Loves  of  a  stream  to  tell, 
One  that  shall  flow  forever  on, 
Drawn  from  the  living  well ! 

Out  from  the  rock  of  Horeb, 

Smote  by  a  wondrous  rod, 
Quickly  the  gushing  waters 

Came  at  the  voice  of  God  ; 
They  who  athirst  were  pining, 

They  who  rebelled  before, 
Now,  with  delight  and  wonder  filled, 

Drank,  and  were  glad  once  more. 

Purer  than  wells  of  Elim 

Under  the  palm  trees  fair, 
Sweeter  than  Horeb's  waters 

Hailed  by  the  fainting  there, — 
Lo,  at  the  feet  of  mercy. 

Fresh  from  the  springs  above, 
Jesus  the  living  water  gives, 

Bought  with  redeeming  love. 
1883. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  195 


O  CHILD  OF  GOD,  WAIT  PATIENTLY. 

O  CHILD  of  God,  wait  patiently 

When  dark  thy  path  may  be, 
And  let  thy  faith  lean  trustingly 

On  Him  who  cares  for  thee  ; 
And  though  the  clouds  hang  drearily 

Upon  the  brow  of  night, 
Yet  in  the  morning  joy  will  come, 

And  fill  thy  soul  with  light. 

O  child  of  God,  He  loveth  thee, 

And  thou  art  all  His  own  ; 
With  gentle  hand  He  leadeth  thee  ; 

Thou  dost  not  walk  alone  ; 
And  though  thou  watchest  wearily 

The  long  and  stormy  night, 
Yet  in  the  morning  joy  will  come, 

And  fill  thy  soul  with  light. 

O  child  of  God,  how  peacefully 

He  calms  thy  fears  to  rest, 
And  draws  thee  upward  tenderly, 

Where  dwell  the  pure  and  blest ! 
And  He  who  bendeth  silently 

Above  the  gloom  of  night, 
Will  take  thee  home  where  endless  joy 

Shall  fill  thy  soul  with  light. 
1886. 


196  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


WHAT  A  GATHERING. 

ON  that  bright  and  golden  morning,  when  the 

Son  of  man  shall  come, 
And  the  radiance  of  His  glory  we  shall  see ; 
When  from  every  clime  and  nation  He  shall  call 

His  people  home, — 
What  a  gathering  of  the  ransomed  that  will  be ! 

Chorus  : 

What  a  gathering,  what  a  gathering, 
What  a  gathering  of  the  ransomed  in  the 

summer  land  of  love  ! 
What  a  gathering,  what  a  gathering 

Of  the  ransomed  in  that  happy  home  above  ! 

When  the  blest  who  sleep  in  Jesus,  at  His  bid- 
ding shall  arise 

From  the  silence  of  the  grave  and  from  the  sea, 
And  with  bodies  all  celestial  they  shall  meet  Him 

in  the  skies, 
What  a  gathering  and  rejoicing  there  will  be  ! 

When  our  eyes  behold   the  city,  with  its  many 

mansions  bright, 

And  its  river,  calm  and  restful,  flowing  free ; 
When  the  friends  that  death  has  parted  shall  in 

bliss  again  unite, — 
What  a  gathering  and  a  greeting  there  will  be  ! 


HYMNS.  197 

O  the  King  is  surely  coming,  and   the  time  is 

drawing  nigh 
When  the  blessed  day  of  promise  we  shall  see  ; 

Then  the  changing  "  in  a  moment,"  "  in  the  twin- 
kling of  an  eye," 

And  forever  in  his  presence  we  shall  be. 

1887. 


'TIS  ONLY  A  LITTLE  WAY. 

'TIS  only  a  little  way  on  to  my  home, 
And  there  in  its  sunshine  forever  I'll  roam ; 
While  all  the  day  long  I  journey  with  song, 
O  beautiful  Eden-land,  thou  art  my  home. 

Refrain : 

"Pis  only  a  little  way,  only  a  little  way, 
Tis  only  a  little  way  on  to  my  home. 

'Tis  only  a  little  way  farther  to  go, 

O'er  mountain  and  valley  where  dark  waters  flow; 

My  Saviour  is  near  with  blessings  to  cheer; 

His  word  is  my  guiding  star — why  should  I  fear  ? 

'Tis  only  a  little  way ;  there  I  shall  see 
The  friends  that  in  glory  are  waiting  for  me ; 
Their  voices  from  home  now  float  on  the  air — 
They're  calling  me  tenderly,  calling  me  there. 
1886. 


198  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


EARLY  MORN. 

AT  early  morn,  with  trembling  step, 

A  faithful  band  drew  near, 
And  stood  at  last  beside  the  grave 

Of  Him  they  loved  so  dear. 

Chorus  : 

He  lives  again  !  He  lives  again  ! 

Rang  out  o'er  all  that  sunlit  plain  ; 
The  Lamb  of  God,  for  sinners  slain, 

Has  conquered  death,  and  lives  again. 

And  as  the  rosy,  blushing  light 

Shot  forth  its  brilliant  rays, 
Their  fears  were  gone,  their  night  was  o'er, 

And  grief  was  lost  in  praise. 

To-day  our  hearts,  with  rapture  filled, 

The  hallowed  strains  repeat, 
And  haste,  within  the  house  of  prayer, 

Our  risen  Lord  to  meet. 
1889. 


HYMNS.  199 


JESUS  IS  CALLING. 

OUT  on  the  mountain,  sad  and  forsaken, 
Lost  in  its  mazes,  no  light  canst  thou  see ; 

Yet  in  His  mercy,  full  of  compassion, 

Lo,  the  Good  Shepherd  is  calling  to  thee. 

Chorus : 

Calling  to  thee,  calling  to  thee, 

Jesus  is  calling,  "  Come  unto  me;  " 

Calling  to  thee,  calling  to  thee, 

Hear  the  Good  Shepherd  calling  to  thee. 

Far  on  the  mountain,  why  wilt  thou  wander? 

Deeper  in  darkness  thy  pathway  will  be  ; 
Turn  from  thy  roaming,  fly  from  its  dangers, 

While  the  Good  Shepherd  is  calling  to  thee. 

Flee  from  thy  bondage  ;  Jesus  will  help  thee  ; 

Only  believe  Him,  and  thou  shalt  be  free  ; 
Wonderful  mercy  !  boundless  compassion  ! 

Still  the  Good  Shepherd  is  calling  to  thee. 
1890. 


200  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


ENDURE  TO  THE  END. 

WE  cannot  fold  our  hands  at  ease, 

And  look  for  heaven  at  last ; 
We  cannot  shout  the  victory  won 

Until  the  war  is  past. 

Chorus  : 

Blessed  are  they  that  endure  to  the  end, 

For  with  them  it  shall  be  well ; 
They  shall  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  life, 

And  with  Jesus  forever  dwell. 

We  cannot  hope  to  win  the  prize, 

Unless  the  race  we  run ; 
Nor  reap  the  fruits  of  endless  joy 

If  we  no  work  have  done. 

We  cannot  slumber  at  our  post, 

Nor  lay  our  armor  down  ; 
And  only  they  who  bear  the  cross 

Can  ever  wear  the  crown. 

Then  let  the  cross  be  all  our  boast, 

And  Jesus  all  our  song, 
Till  in  His  robe  of  righteousness 

We  join  the  ransomed  throng. 
1890. 


HYMNS.  201 


SAVED   BY   GRACE. 

SOME  day  the  silver  cord  will  break, 
And  I  no  more  as  now  shall  sing  ; 

But,  O  the  joy  when  I  shall  wake 
Within  the  palace  of  the  King  ! 

Chorus  : 

And  I  shall  see  Him  face  to  face, 
And  tell  the  story — Saved  by  Grace. 

Some  day  my  earthly  house  will  fall ; 

I  cannot  tell  how  soon  'twill  be ; 
But  this  I  know — my  All  in  All 

Has  now  a  place  in  heaven  for  me. 

Some  day,  when  fades  the  golden  sun 

Beneath  the  rosy-tinted  west, 
My  blessed  Lord  will  say,  "  Well  done !  " 

And  I  shall  enter  into  rest. 

Some  day, — till  then  I'll  watch  and  wait, 

My  lamp  all  trimmed  and  burning  bright, 
That  when  my  Saviour  opes  the  gate, 
My  soul  to  Him  may  wing  its  flight. 
1891. 


202  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


MY  SAVIOUR   FIRST  OF  ALL. 

WHEN  my  lifework  is  ended,  and  I   cross  the 

swelling  tide, 
When  the  bright  and  glorious  morning  I  shall 

see, 
I  shall  know  my  Redeemer  when  I  reach  the  other 

side, 
And  His  smile  will  be  the  first  to  welcome  me. 

Chorus : 

I  shall  know  Him,  I  shall  know  Him, 

And  alone  by  His  side  I  shall  stand  ; 
I  shall  know  Him,  I  shall  know  Him, 

By  the  print  of  the  nails  in  His  hand. 

O   the  soul-thrilling  rapture  when   I   view   His 

blessed  face, 

And  the  luster  of  His  kindly  beaming  eye ! 
How  my  full  heart  will  praise  Him  for  the  mercy, 

love,  and  grace, 
That  prepares  for  me  a  mansion  in  the  sky ! 

O  the  dear  ones  in  glory,  how  they  beckon  me  to 

come! 

And  our  parting  at  the  river  I  recall ; 
To  the  sweet  vales  of  Eden  they  will  sing  my  wel- 
come home ; 
But  I  long  to  meet  my  Saviour  first  of  all. 


HYMNS.  203 

Through  the  gates  to  the  city,  in  a  robe  of  spot- 
less white, 
He  will  lead  me  where  no  tears  will  ever  fall ; 

In  the  glad  song  of  ages  I  shall  mingle  with  de- 
light ; 

But  I  long  to  meet  my  Saviour  first  of  all. 

1891. 


OUR  CHEERFUL  SABBATH  HOME. 

How  sweet  the  chiming  Sabbath  bells  ! 

We  love  the  welcome  sound  ; 
And  haste,  with  glad  and  willing  heart, 

Where  purest  joys  are  found. 

From  Christian  friends  and  teachers  there, 

We  learn  the  heavenly  way 
That  leads  to  Him  who  kindly  gave 

This  holy,  happy  day. 

We  sing  our  Saviour's  wondrous  love, 

And  all  His  tender  care ; 
We  sing  of  joy  beyond  the  sky, 

In  mansions  bright  and  fair. 

The  angels,  robed  in  purest  white, 

Surround  the  throne  above ; 
And  there  our  happy  souls  may  join 

To  sing  redeeming  love. 
1869. 


204  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

OUT  of  the  shadow  into  the  light, 
Shining  in  glory  transcendently  bright ; 
Out  of  the  gloaming  into  the  day, 
Beaming  in  splendor  that  fades  not  away. 

Chorus : 

Out  of  the  sighing,  fading  and  dying, 
Into  the  perfect,  lovely  and  bright ; 
Out  of  the  darkness  into  the  dawning, 
Out  of  the  shadow  into  the  light. 

Out  of  the  shadow,  lonely  and  drear, 
Into  the  future  that  knows  not  a  fear  ; 
Out  of  the  conflict,  weary  and  sore, 
Into  the  home-land  of  bliss  evermore. 

Out  of  the  shadow,  voiceless  and  cold, 
Into  the  sunshine  of  rapture  untold  ; 
Out  of  the  hoping  into  the  blest, 
Out  of  the  longing  with  Jesus  at  rest. 

Over  the  river  soon  we  shall  be, 

Over  the  river,  dear  Saviour,  with  Thee 

Out  of  the  shadow  into  the  light, 

Clothed    in  the   garments   Thy   blood   hath 

made  white. 
1891. 


HYMNS.  205 


GOOD  NIGHT. 

O  THE  morning,  happy  morning, 

That  will  break  on  yonder  shore, 
When  the  march  of  life  is  ended, 

And  our  harvest  work  is  o'er; 
When  we  stand  amid  the  gloaming, 

And  our  hearts  with  joy  are  bright, 
While  we  say  to  those  around  us, 

With  a  loving  smile,  Good  night ! 

O  the  morning,  blissful  morning, 

That  from  every  care  is  free, 
And  forever  with  our  Saviour 

And  Redeemer  we  shall  be ; 
When  the  silver  cord  is  broken, 

And  our  spirits  wing  their  flight, 
Only  pausing  till  our  dear  ones 

Catch  the  loving  words,  Good  night ! 

O  the  morning,  golden  morning ! 

We  shall  see  it  by  and  by ; 
Faith  beholds  it  in  the  distance, 

And  its  dawning  draweth  nigh ; 
Here  we  part,  for  time  is  fleeting, 

Ever  fading  from  our  sight, 
But  in  yonder  happy  morrow 

We  shall  never  say  Good  night. 
1891. 


206  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


TRUST  ON. 

TRUST  on  ;  is  not  the  Saviour  at  thy  side, 
In  darkest  hour  thy  faltering  steps  to  guide  ? 
Take  thou  the  hand  outreaching  now  to  thee  ; 
He  bids  thee  walk  in  faith ;  so  let  it  be. 

Trust  on ;  though  thorns  may  thrust  thy  weary 

feet, 

Yet  pain  or  bliss  with  Jesus  will  be  sweet ; 
If  thou  believe,  it  shall  be  well  with  thee ; 
If  He  would  test  thy  faith,  so  let  it  be. 

Trust  on ;  no  trial  can  thy  way  befall 
But  He,  thy  Lord  and  Saviour,  knows  it  all ; 
And  if,  to  make  His  love  more  pure  in  thee, 
Thou  need'st  His  chastening  rod,  so  let  it  be. 

Trust  on  ;  as  clouds  of  evening  glide  away, 
And  leave  the  calm  reflection  of  the  day, 
Soon  shall  thy  waiting  eyes  His  glory  see, 
And  though  through  clouds  it  come,  so  let  it  be. 
1891. 


HYMNS.  207 


CHRIST  THE  SEAL  OF  DEATH  HAS 
BROKEN. 

Christ  the  seal  of  death  has  broken, 
Forth  He  comes  with  power  divine ; 

Heavenly  guards  behold  Him  rising, 
Heavenly  glories  round  Him  shine. 

At  the  tomb  that  cannot  bind  Him, 
Angels  linger  robed  in  white  ; 

While  the  watchmen,  pale  and  trembling, 
Fall  in  terror  from  the  sight. 

Ye  who  bore  the  joyful  tidings 
Of  a  Prince  and  Saviour  born, 

Higher  raise  your  song  of  triumph 
On  the  resurrection  morn. 

Christ  the  seal  of  death  has  broken  ; 

Let  the  world  before  Him  fall ; 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  saints,  and  hail  Him, 

Hail  the  mighty  Lord  of  all. 
1892. 


208  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


TRUSTFULLY  COME  I  TO  THEE. 

TRUSTFULLY,  trustfully 

Come  I  to  Thee  ; 
Jesus,  Thou  blessed  One, 

Thine  would  I  be  ; 
Then  shall  I  cheerfully, 

Truly  and  earnestly 
Walk  in  Thy  spirit, 

Saviour,  with  Thee. 

Peacefully,  peacefully 

Come  I  to  Thee ; 
More  of  Thy  presence,  Lord. 

Grant  Thou  to  me; 
Then  shall  I  carefully, 

Watchfully,  prayerfully, 
Walk  in  Thy  spirit, 

Closer  to  Thee. 

Joyfully,  joyfully 

Come  I  to  Thee ; 
Thou  art  my  loving  Friend, 

Precious  to  me; 
O  may  I  restfully, 

Calmly  and  lovingly 
Dwell  in  Thy  spirit, 

Saviour,  with  Thee. 
1893. 


HYMNS.  209 


BLESSED  DAY. 

BLESSED  day,  when  pure  devotions 
Rise  to  God  on  wings  of  love ; 

When  we  catch  the  distant  music 
Of  the  angel  choirs  above. 

Blessed  day,  when  bells  are  calling 
Weary  souls  from  earthly  care, 

And  we  come,  with  hearts  uplifted, 
To  the  holy  place  of  prayer. 

Blessed  day,  so  calm  and  restful, 
Bringing  joy  and  peace  to  all, 

Linger  yet  in  tranquil  beauty, 
Ere  the  shades  of  evening  fall. 

Blessed  day,  thy  light  is  fading ; 

One  by  one  its  beams  depart ; 
May  their  calm  and  sweet  reflection 

Still  abide  in  every  heart. 
1894. 


210  HYMNS. 


RESTING  BY  THE  RIVER. 

WHEN  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  in  the  beautiful 

forever, 

Light  will  seem  the  cares  and  crosses  that  ap- 
pear so  heavy  now ; 
Then  I'll  see  that  pathway  lonely  God  marked  out 

in  kindness  only, 

When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  with  life's  crown 
upon  my  brow. 

When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  where  no  sorrow 

cometh  ever, 
I  shall  feel  that  earthly  darkness  made  more 

welcome  heaven's  light ; 
I  shall  learn  how  each  affliction  brought  a  blessed 

benediction, 

When   I'm  resting  by  the  river,  in  the  land 
where  falls  no  night. 

When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  'neath  the  healing 

trees  that  quiver 
In  the  sweet  balm-laden  breezes  blown  from 

hills  of  Paradise, 
I  shall  see  with  vision  clearer  loss  made  heaven's 

treasures  dearer. 

When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  in  the  home  be- 
yond the  skies. 


BELLS  AT  EVENING.  211 

When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  where  fond  ties 

are  broken  never, 
I  shall  find  that  separation  made  reunion  there 

more  sweet  ; 
Past  for  aye  all  tears  and  sighing,  mine  shall  be  a 

joy  undying, 
When  I'm  resting  by  the  river,  where  the  happy 

saved  ones  meet. 
1894, 


212  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


NEVER  SAY  GOOD-BYE. 

O  BLESSED  home  where  those  who  meet 

Shall  never  say  Good-bye  ; 
Where  kindred  souls  each  other  greet. 

And  never  say  Good-bye. 

Chorus  : 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye, 
We'll  never  say  Good-bye  ; 
In  that  fair  land  beyond  the  sky, 
We'll  never  say  Good-bye. 

Beyond  this  vale  of  toil  and  care, 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye  ; 
We  part  in  tears  on  earth,  but  there  — 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye. 

When  safe  among  the  ransomed  throng, 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye  ; 
Where  life  is  one  eternal  song, 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye. 

On  yonder  fair  and  peaceful  shore, 

We'll  never  say  Good-bye  ; 
But  dwell  with  Christ  for  evermore, 

And  never  say  Good-bye. 
1894. 


HYMNS.  213 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE  IN  ME. 

0  THOU  to  whom,  without  reserve, 
My  all  I  would  resign, 

1  ask  for  grace  and  faith  to  say, 
"Thy  will,  O  Lord,  not  mine  ! " 

In  joy  or  grief,  in  bliss  or  pain, 
This  prayer  shall  rise  to  Thee, 

"  Thy  will,  not  mine,  O  blessed  Lord, 
Thy  will  be  done  in  me  !  " 

Though  thorns  may  pierce  my  weary  feet, 

Yet  would  I  ne'er  repine, 
But  meekly  say,  as  Thou  hast  said, 

"Thy  will,  O  Lord,  not  mine!" 
And  though  I  pass  beneath  Thy  rod, 

Amen,  so  let  it  be  ! 
Whate'er  Thou  wilt,  O  blessed  Lord, 

I  know  is  best  for  me. 

So  would  I  live  that  I  may  feel 

Thy  perfect  peace  divine, 
And  still  Thy  pure  example  show 

In  every  act  of  mine  ; 
And  till  I  reach  the  silent  vale, 

And  cross  the  narrow  sea, 
Be  this  my  prayer,  O  blessed  Lord, 

"  Thy  will  be  done  in  me !  " 
1895. 


214  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


WHEN  THE  KING  SHALL  COME. 

O  THE  weary  night  is  waning, 

And  the  clouds  are  rolling  by ; 
See,  the  long-expected  morning 

Now  is  dawning  in  the  sky ; 
When  from  Zion's  lofty  mountain 

We  shall  hear  the  watchman  cry, 
And  rejoicing  we  shall  gather 

When  the  King  shall  come. 

Chorus  : 
O  Zion  !  O  Zion  !     Great  will  be  thy  triumph 

When  the  King  shall  come  ; 
O  Zion  !  O  Zion  !     Thou  shalt  be  exalted 

When  the  King  shall  come. 

When  the  ransomed  of  Jehovah, 

From  the  East  and  from  the  West, 
Shall  return  with  joy  and  gladness, 

To  receive  the  promised  rest, — 
Then  shall  every  tribe  and  nation 

Out  of  every  land  be  blessed, 
And  rejoicing  they  shall  gather 

When  the  King  shall  come. 

May  He  find  us,  when  He  cometh, 
Faithful  watchers  day  and  night, 

At  our  royal  post  of  duty, 
With  our  armor  shining  bright ; 


HYMNS.  21 5 

May  our  lamps  be  trimmed  and  burning 

With  a  clear  and  steady  light, 
That  rejoicing  we  may  gather 
When  the  King  shall  come. 
1896. 


SECRET  PRAYER. 

THERE  is  an  hour  of  calm  relief 
From  every  throbbing  care ; 

'Tis  when,  before  a  throne  of  grace, 
I  kneel  in  secret  prayer. 

When  one  by  one,  like  threads  of  gold, 
The  hues  of  twilight  fall, 

0  sweet  communion  with  my  God, 
My  Saviour  and  my  all ! 

1  hear  seraphic  tones  that  float 
Amid  celestial  air, 

And  bathe  my  soul  in  streams  of  joy, 
Alone  in  secret  prayer. 

O  when  the  hour  of  death  shall  come, 
How  sweet  trom  thence  to  rise, 

With  prayer  on  earth  my  latest  breath, 

My  watchword  to  the  skies  ! 
1873- 


216  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 


LOVING  SAVIOUR,  WITH  THY 
BLESSING. 

LOVING  Saviour,  with  Thy  blessing 

Thou  hast  filled  our  souls  to-day ; 
How  the  moments,  bright  with  pleasure, 

Like  a  dream  have  flown  away  ! 
But  to  think  that  we  must  sever — 

How  it  wrings  our  hearts  with  pain ! 
Loving  Saviour,  in  Thy  mercy 

Spare  us  all  to  meet  again. 

Mid  these  scenes  of  happy  childhood, 

O  'tis  sweet  awhile  to  dwell ; 
But  our  joy  is  tinged  with  sadness, 

For  we  now  must  say,  Farewell ; 
May  the  chain  of  Love  and  Friendship 

Long  unbroken  still  remain  ; 
Loving  Saviour,  in  Thy  mercy 

Spare  us  all  to  meet  again. 

When  our  fleeting  years  are  ended, 

And  the  day  of  life  is  o'er ; 
When  our  voices  here  are  silent, 

And  our  songs  are  heard  no  more, — 
In  the  realm  of  kindred  spirits, 

Free  from  every  throb  of  pain, 
Loving  Saviour,  in  Thy  mercy 

Bring  us  all  to  meet  again. 
1897. 


A  SEEING  HEART. 

BY  FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL. 
TO  "FANNY  CROSBY.'' 

SWEET  blind  singer  over  the  sea, 

Tuneful  and  jubilant !  how  can  it  be 

That  the  songs  of  gladness,  which  float  so  far, 

As  if  they  fell  from  the  evening  star, 

Are  the  notes  of  one  who  never  may  see 

"Visible  music  "  of  flower  and  tree, 

Purple  of  mountain,  or  glitter  of  snow, 

Ruby  and  gold  of  the  sunset  glow, 

And  never  the  light  of  a  loving  face  ? 

Must  not  the  world  be  a  desolate  place 

For  eyes  that  are  sealed  with  the  seal  of  years, 

Eyes  that  are  open  only  for  tears  ? 

How  can  she  sing  in  the  dark  like  this  ? 

What  is  her  fountain  of  light  and  bliss  ? 

O,  her  heart  can  see,  her  heart  can  see ! 
And  its  sight  is  strong,  and  swift  and  free; 
Never  the  ken  of  mortal  eye 
Could  pierce  so  deep,  and  far,  and  high 
As  the  eagle  vision  of  hearts  that  dwell 
In  the  lofty,  sunlit  citadel 
Of  Faith  that  overcomes  the  world, 
With  banners  of  Hope  and  Joy  unfurled, 
Garrisoned  with  God's  perfect  Peace, 
Ringing  with  pasans  that  never  cease, 
217 


218  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

Flooded  with  splendor  bright  and  broad, 
The  glorious  light  of  the  Love  of  God. 


Her  heart  can  see,  her  heart  can  see  ! 
Well  may  she  sing  so  joyously  ! 
For  the  King  Himself,  in  His  tender  grace, 
Hath  shown  her  the  brightness  of  His  face  ; 
And  who  shall  pine  for  a  glow-worm  light 
When  the  Sun  goes  forth  in  His  radiant  might  ? 
She  can  read  His  law,  as  a  shining  chart, 
For  His  finger  hath  written  it  on  her  heart ; 
She  can  read  His  love,  for  on  all  her  way 
His  hand  is  writing  it  every  day. 
"  Bright  cloud  "  indeed  must  that  darkness  be, 
Where  "  Jesus  only  "  the  heart  can  see. 


Her  heart  can  see  !  her  heart  can  see, 
Beyond  the  glooms  and  the  mystery, 
Glimpses  of  glory  not  far  away, 
Nearing  and  brightening  day  by  day ; 
Golden  crystal  and  emerald  bow, 
Luster  of  pearl  and  sapphire  glow, 
Sparkling  river  and  healing  tree, 
Evergreen  palms  of  victory, 
Harp  and  crown  and  raiment  white, 
Holy  and  beautiful  dwellers  in  light ; 
A  throne,  and  One  thereon,  whose  face 
Is  the  glory  of  that  glorious  place.  . 


TO  FANNY  CROSBY.  219 

Dear  blind  sister  over  the  sea ! 
An  English  heart  goes  forth  to  thee. 
We  are  linked  by  a  cable  of  faith  and  song, 
Flashing  bright  sympathy  swift  along ; 
One  in  the  East  and  one  in  the  West, 
Singing  for  Him  whom  our  souls  love  best, 
"  Singing  for  Jesus,"  telling  His  love 
All  the  way  to  our  home  above, 
Where  the  severing  sea,  with  its  restless  tide, 
Never  shall  hinder,  and  never  divide. 
Sister !  what  will  our  meeting  be, 
When  our  hearts  shall  sing  and  our  eyes  shall  see  ! 
May  10,  1872. 

NOTE. — Many  sweet  hymns  by  Fanny  Crosby  have  become 
known,  and  are  warmly  appreciated,  in  England  and  Scotland. 
In  answer  to  the  inquiry,  "  Who  is  '  Fanny  Crosby  ?  '  "  the  fol- 
lowing beautiful  reply  was  received  :  "  She  is  a  blind  lady  whose 
heart  can  see  splendidly  in  the  sunshine  of  God's  love."  Hence 
the  above  greeting  to  a  far-off  fellow-minister  of  song. — From 
The  Poetical  Works  of  Frances  Ridley  Havergal,  Authorized 
Edition. 


INDEX  OF  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 5-22 

SECULAR  POEMS 23-88 

AMERICAN  HEARTS  AND  HOMES 40 

A  SONG 83 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  CINCINNATI 53 

BELLS  AT  EVENING 23 

BID  ME  GOOD  NIGHT 52 

CONFIDENCE 82 

CORA  BELL 66 

CORA  LEE  : — A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 48 

Do  You  LOVE  CHILDREN  ? 79 

GREETING  TO  THE  CITIZENS  OF  BRIDGEPORT.  25 

LUCY'S  AND  EMMA'S  CONQUEST 75 

MAMMA'S  LULLABY 74 

MINNIE'S  BIRTHDAY 33 

NANNETTE 35 

ONLY  A  LEAF 64 

OUR  BABY 67 

POET'S  CORNER 55 

SEEKING  FOR  VIOLETS 84 

SPEAK  NOT  HARSHLY 73 

THANKSGIVING  DAY 42 

THE  HEART 71 

THE  MAIDEN  AND  HER  CANOE 32 


INDEX  OF  CONTENTS.  221 

SECULAR  POEMS— continued.  PAGE 

THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MINSTREL 58 

THE  OLD  YEAR 38 

THE  RAINDROP 29 

THE  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE 61 

THESOLDIER'S  REVERIE 69 

THE  VIOLET'S  ANSWER 31 

THEY  ARE  GONE 72 

To  A  BIRD 37 

To  BESSIE 86 

TWILIGHT 81 

TWILIGHT  HOUR 72 

VOICE  OF  THE  NIGHT  WIND 38 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS 89-128 

A  RHAPSODY 117 

EVENING 120 

GRANDPA'S  BLESSING 114 

HOPE  ON,  HOPE  EVER 107 

IMMORTAL  LOVE 106 

MOTHER,  PRAY  FOR  ME 122 

No  TEARS  IN  HEAVEN 109 

OCEAN  GROVE 112 

OUR  LORD  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  LAZARUS 117 

PEACE,  BE  STILL 123 

PRAYER 105 

REST 108 

RETROSPECT no 

SAMSON  WITH  THE  PHILISTINES 98 

THE  BAPTISM  OF  OUR  LORD 124 

THE  CHILD  AND  THE  ANGEL 115 

THE  DYING  BOY 128 


222  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

RELIGIOUS  POEMS— continued.  PAGE 

THE  MEETING  OF  JACOB  AND  JOSEPH 93 

TRIAL  OF  THE  FAITH  OF  ABRAHAM 89 

UNSEEN in 

WE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  THOU  DOEST 127 

MISCELLANEOUS  SONGS  AND  POEMS. ..  129-148 

ALMOST  IN  SIGHT  OF  THE  HARBOR 148 

GRANDMA'S  ROCKING-CHAIR 144 

MOTHER'S  GOOD-BYE 136 

ROSALIE,  THE  PRAIRIE  FLOWER 132 

THE  HAZEL  DELL 130 

THE  HONEYSUCKLE  GLEN 134 

THE  SINGER  AND  THE  HARP 143 

THE  WHITE  SAIL 146 

THERE'S  Music  IN  THE  AIR 129 

THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN 138 

UNDER  A  CLOUD 140 

HYMNS 149-216 

A  FEW  MORE  MARCHINGS 192 

ALL  THE  WAY 181 

BLESSED  ASSURANCE 170 

BLESSED  DAY 209 

BLESSED  HOMELAND 185 

BY  AND  BY 184 

CHRIST  THE  SEAL  OF  DEATH  HAS  BROKEN.  . .  207 

CLOSE  TO  THEE 175 

CLOSING  HYMN 150 

EARLY  MORN 198 

ENDURE  TO  THE  END 200 

EVERY  DAY  AND  HOUR 176 

GOD  OF  ETERNITY 172 

GOOD  NIGHT 205 

GREAT  is  JEHOVAH 167 


INDEX  OF  CONTENTS.  223 

HYMNS— continued.  PAGE 

HIDE  THOU  ME 183 

HOLD  THOU  MY  HAND 174 

HOLY  is  THE  LORD 163 

I  AM  THINE,  O  LORD 180 

I  COME  TO  THEE 159 

I  KNOW  THERE'S  A  REST 191 

JESUS  DEAR,  I  COME  TO  THEE 155 

JESUS  is  CALLING 199 

KEEP  THOU  MY  WAY,  O  LORD 164 

LEARN  OF  THE  MEEK  AND  LOWLY 187 

LET  THE  GOOD  ANGELS  COME  IN 157 

LIKE  THE  SOUND  OF  MANY  WATERS 177 

LOVING  SAVIOUR,  WITH  THY  BLESSING 216 

MORE  LIKE  JESUS. 154 

MY  SAVIOUR  FIRST  OF  ALL 202 

NEAR  THE  CROSS 169 

NEARER  THE  CROSS 173 

NEVER  SAY  GOOD-BYE 212 

NEVER  SHONE  A  LIGHT  so  FAIR 179 

NOT  ALWAY 193 

O  CHILD  OF  GOD,  WAIT  PATIENTLY 195 

ONLY  A  STEP  TO  JESUS 171 

OUR  CHEERFUL  SABBATH  HOME 203 

OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 204 

PARTING  HYMN 188 

PASS  ME  NOT 158 

RESCUE  THE  PERISHING 160 

RESTING  BY  THE  RIVER 210 

SAFE  IN  THE  ARMS  OF  JESUS 156 

SAVED  BY  GRACE 201 

SECRET  PRAYER 215 

SHOUT  ALOUD,  ALL  YE  LANDS 178 

SING  ALWAYS 165 

So  NEAR  TO  THE  KINGDOM 182 


224  BELLS  AT  EVENING. 

HYMNS— continued.  PAGE 

STRIKE  THE  H"ARP  OF  ZION 162 

THE  BRIGHT  FOREVER 168 

THE  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 152 

THIS  I  KNOW 186 

THY  WILL  BE  DONE  IN  ME 213 

'Tis  ONLY  A  LITTLE  WAY 197 

'Tis  THE  BLESSED  HOUR  OF  PRAYER 189 

To  JESUS  I  WILL  Go 166 

TRUST  ON 206 

TRUSTFULLY  COME  I  TO  THEE 208 

'TWILL  NOT  BE  LONG 161 

WE  ARE  GOING 149 

WEARY  WANDERER,  STOP  AND  LISTEN 190 

WELLS  OF  ELIM 194 

WHAT  A  GATHERING 196 

WHEN  THE  KING  SHALL  COME 214 

YES,  THERE  is  PARDON  FOR  You 151 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  F.  J.  CROSBY 217-219 

A  SEEING  HEART 217 


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